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diff --git a/old/54033-h/54033-h.htm b/old/54033-h/54033-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 026ca82..0000000 --- a/old/54033-h/54033-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8805 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> -<head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> -<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of When She Came Home from College, by Marian Hurd McNeely and Jean Bingham Wilson</title> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3,h4 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - .faux { - font-size: 0.5em; /*this font size could be anything */ - visibility: hidden;} - -p { - margin-top: .75em; - text-align: justify; - text-indent: 1.25em; - margin-bottom: .75em; -} - - .maintitle {font-size: 200%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} - .copyright {text-align: center; font-size: 70%; text-indent: 0;} - .author {font-size: 120%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} - div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} - .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} - - .center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} - - .right {text-align: right; text-indent: 0;} - .smcap {font-variant: small-caps; font-style: normal;} - .blockquot { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 90%; } - - - .unindent {margin-top: .75em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .75em; - text-indent: 0;} -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%} -hr.full {width: 95%;} - - -/* Poetry */ -.poetry-container -{ font-size: 90%; - text-align: center; -} - -.poetry -{ - display: inline-block; - text-align: left; -} - -.poetry .stanza -{ - margin: 1em auto; -} - -.poetry .verse -{ - text-indent: -3em; - padding-left: 3em; -} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - text-indent: 0;} /* page numbers */ - - -/* Images */ - img {border: 0;} - - .caption {font-weight: bold; font-size: 90%; text-indent: 0;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.btlb {border-bottom: solid 1px; border-top: solid 1px; border-left: solid 1px;} - -/*Drop caps*/ -.drop-cap { - text-indent: 0em; - text-align: justify; -} -.drop-cap:first-letter -{ - float: left; - margin: 0.15em 0.1em 0em 0em; - font-size: 250%; - line-height:0.5em; -} - -.page { font-size: 70%; text-align: right;} -@media handheld -{ - .chapter - { - page-break-before: always; - } - - h2.no-break - { - page-break-before: avoid; - padding-top: 0; - } - - .poetry - { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; - } - .drop-cap:first-letter - { - float: none; - margin: 0; - font-size: 100%; - } -} - - hr.pg { width: 100%; - margin-top: 3em; - margin-bottom: 0em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - height: 4px; - border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ - border-style: solid; - border-color: #000000; - clear: both; } - </style> -</head> -<body> -<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, When She Came Home from College, by Marian -Hurd McNeely and Jean Bingham Wilson, Illustrated by George Gibbs</h1> -<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook.</p> -<p>Title: When She Came Home from College</p> -<p>Author: Marian Hurd McNeely and Jean Bingham Wilson</p> -<p>Release Date: January 20, 2017 [eBook #54033]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN SHE CAME HOME FROM COLLEGE***</p> -<h4>E-text prepared by Emmy, MWS,<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> - from page images digitized by<br /> - the Google Books Library Project<br /> - (<a href="http://books.google.com">http://books.google.com</a>)<br /> - and generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive<br /> - (<a href="https://archive.org">https://archive.org</a>)</h4> -<p> </p> -<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> - <tr> - <td valign="top"> - Note: - </td> - <td> - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - <a href="https://archive.org/details/whenshecamehome00presgoog"> - https://archive.org/details/whenshecamehome00presgoog</a> - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<hr class="pg" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<h1 class="faux">When She Came Home -From College</h1> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 541px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="541" height="800" alt="cover" /> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - - - - - - -<div class="maintitle">When She Came Home -From College</div> -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 312px;"><a id="frontispiece"></a> -<img src="images/i-004.jpg" width="312" height="633" alt="man meeting young woman getting off train" /> -<div class="page">(<a href="#Page_16">page 16</a>)</div> -<div class="caption">HEL-LO, LITTLE GIRL</div> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<div class="maintitle"> -When She Came Home<br /> -From College<br /> -<br /> -<br /></div><div class="center"> -<small>BY</small><br /> -<span class="author">MARIAN KENT HURD</span><br /> -<small>AND</small><br /> -<span class="author">JEAN BINGHAM WILSON</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<i>With Illustrations by<br /> -George Gibbs</i><br /> -<br /> -<br /></div> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 144px;"> -<img src="images/emblem.jpg" width="144" height="193" alt="Emblem TOVT RIEN OV RIEN" /> -</div> - -<div class="center"><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br /> -HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> -<b>The Riverside Press Cambridge</b><br /> -1909<br /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="copyright"> -COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY MARIAN KENT HURD AND JEAN BINGHAM WILSON<br /> -ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br /> -<br /> -<i>Published October, 1909</i><br /> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2>Contents</h2> - - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> -<tr> -<td align="right">I.</td> -<td align="left">Alma Mater</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">II.</td> -<td align="left">Home</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">III.</td> -<td align="left">The Theory of Philosophy</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">IV.</td> -<td align="left">The Practice</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">V.</td> -<td align="left">The “Idgit”</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">VI.</td> -<td align="left">The Duchess</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">VII.</td> -<td align="left">“The Falling out of Faithful Friends” </td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">VIII.</td> -<td align="left">Applied Philanthropy</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">IX.</td> -<td align="left">“Without”</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">X.</td> -<td align="left">The Vegetable Man’s Daughter</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">XI.</td> -<td align="left">Real Trouble</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="right">XII.</td> -<td align="left">The End of the Interregnum</td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td> -</tr> -</table></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2>Illustrations</h2> - - - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> -<tr> -<td align="left"><i>Hel-lo, little girl</i></td> -<td align="right">(page 16) <i><a href="#frontispiece">Frontispiece</a></i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="left"><i>Cantyloops! What’s them?</i></td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="left"><i>Why are you eating in here?</i></td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="left"><i>In the middle of the floor sat the Idgit</i></td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="left"><i>I’m Mrs. ’Arris, an’ I’ve come to ’elp you hout</i></td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="left"><i>Such a sadly changed Gassy</i></td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td align="left"><i>Barbara sank down wearily</i></td> -<td align="right"><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td> -</tr> -</table> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="maintitle">When She Came Home<br /> -From College</div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2>CHAPTER I<br /> - -<small>ALMA MATER</small></h2> - - -<p class="drop-cap">“WELL, this is cheerful!” cried the Infant, -as she stepped briskly into the -room where the rest of the “Set” -were dejectedly assembled. “What if this <i>is</i> -the last night of college! What if our diplomas -<i>are</i> all concealed in the tops of our top -trays! Can’t this crowd be original enough -to smile a little on our last evening, instead -of looking like a country prayer-meeting?”</p> - -<p>The Infant cast herself upon the cushionless -frame of a Morris armchair, and grinned -at the forms on the packing-boxes around her. -Her eyes roved round the disorderly room, -stripped of the pretty portières, cushions, mandolins, -and posters, which are as inevitably -a part of a college suite as the curriculum is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -a part of the college itself. Even the Infant -suppressed a sigh as she caught sight of the -trunks outside in the corridor.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean;</div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Tears from the depths of some divine despair,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Rise from the heart and gather to the eyes,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On looking at the—excelsior—on the floor,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And thinking of the days that are no more,”</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="unindent">she chanted.</p> - -<p>“It’s all very well to talk in that unfeeling -way, Infant,” said Knowledge, separating herself -with difficulty from the embrace of the -Sphinx and sitting up on the packing-box to -address her chums to better advantage. “It’s -very well to talk, but the fact remains that -to-morrow we are all to be scattered to the -four corners of the United States. And who -knows whether we shall ever all be together -again in our whole lives?” Knowledge forgot -the dignity of her new A. B. and gulped audibly; -while the Sphinx patted her on the -back, and said nothing, as usual.</p> - -<p>“Well!” retorted the Infant, rising, “if I -<i>am</i> the youngest, I have more sense than the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -rest of you. I’ve kept my chafing-dish out of -my trunk, and I’ve saved some sugar and -alcohol and chocolate, and ‘borrowed’ some -milk and butter from the table downstairs; -because I knew something would be needed -to revive this set, and I hadn’t the money to -buy enough smelling-salts.”</p> - -<p>The Infant ran down the corridor, and came -back with her battered dish; and the girls gathered -together on the dusty floor around the -box, which now served as a table. Their faces, -worn from the strain of the week of graduation, -relaxed noticeably as the familiar odor -began to float upon the air.</p> - -<p>“This <i>is</i> comfortable,” sighed Barbara, -gratefully. “Let me take the spoon, Infant. -Your four years of college life have not yet -A. B.’d you in fudge.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you are not quite crushed by the pangs -of the coming separation, after all, then,” -grinned the youngest member. “Girls, did -you hear an awful chuckle when our Barbara -finished her Commencement speech yesterday? -It was I, and I was dreadfully ashamed.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Mercy, no!” cried Atalanta, turning -shocked eyes at the offender. “What on earth -did you chuckle for, when it was so sad?”</p> - -<p>“That’s just it!” said the Irreverent Infant. -“When Babbie began to talk of Life -and Love and the Discipline of Experience -and the Opportunities for Uplifting One’s -Environment,—wasn’t that it, Babbie?—I -began to wonder how she knew it all. Babbie -has never loved a man in her life” (the -Infant glanced sharply at Barbara’s clear profile); -“Babbie has never had any experiences -to be disciplined about; Babbie’s environment, -which is <i>we</i>, girls, hasn’t been -especially uplifted by any titanic efforts on -her part; and as for Life, why, Babbie’s had -only twenty-one years of it, and some of them -were unconscious. So when her oration ended -with that grand triumphant climax, and every -one was holding her breath and looking awed -and tearful, I was chuckling to think how -beautifully Barbara was selling all those people.”</p> - -<p>A horrified clamor arose from the girls.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why, Evelyn Clinton! It was lovely!”</p> - -<p>“Infant, you shameless creature!”</p> - -<p>With a whirl of her white skirts, amid the -confusion that followed, the House Plant -rose to her feet and the rescue of her chum. -“Just because you can’t appreciate what a -splendid mind Babbie has, Evelyn Clinton, -and how much the English professors think of -her, and what a prodigy she is, anyway—”</p> - -<p>“Hear, hear!” cried Barbara, laughing.</p> - -<p>“—And how proud we are of her,” went -on the impetuous House Plant “Just because -you have no soul is no reason why you -should deny its possession by others!”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve stirred you all up, anyway,” -said the Infant, comfortably. “And that is all -I wanted.”</p> - -<p>Barbara took the spoon out of the fudge -dreamily. “You may be right,” she said -to the Infant. “You know I didn’t get the -Eastman Scholarship.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you ever mention that odious thing -again!” cried Atalanta. “You know that the -whole class thinks you should have had it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> - -<p>Barbara turned her face aside to hide a -momentary shadow.</p> - -<p>“Well, in any case,” she said, “there is -work ahead for me. Every one who anticipates -a literary career must work hard for -recognition.”</p> - -<p>“You won’t have to,” declared the House -Plant, hugging her chum, and followed by -a murmur of assent from the floor. “Why, -Babbie, didn’t you get five dollars from that -Sunday-School Journal, and don’t they want -more stories at the same rate? I think that -is splendid!”</p> - -<p>“I shall not write insipid little stories when -I go home,” Barbara answered, smiling kindly -down at the enthusiastic little devotee who had -subsided at her feet “I shall write something -really worth while,—perhaps a story which -will unveil characters in all their complexity -and show how they are swayed by all the -different elements which enter into environment—”</p> - -<p>“Ouch!” exclaimed the Infant “You are -letting the fudge burn, and unveiling your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -characteristic of absent-mindedness to the set, -who know it already. This stuff is done, anyway, -and I’ll pour it out Or, no,—let’s eat -it hot with these spoons.”</p> - -<p>The Infant dealt out spoons with the rapidity -of a dexterous bridge-player, and the girls -burned their tongues in one second, and -blamed their youngest in the next.</p> - -<p>“By the way, Babbie,” suggested the Infant -with a view to hiding speedily her second -enormity, “you never told us the advice that -New York editor gave you last week.”</p> - -<p>Barbara’s scorn rose. “He was horrid,” -she said. “He told me that an entering wedge -into literary life was <i>stenography</i> in a magazine -office. Imagine! He said that sometimes -stenographers earned as much as twenty dollars -a week. I told him that perhaps he had -not realized that I was of New England ancestry -and Vassar College, and that I was not -wearing my hair in a huge pompadour, nor -was I chewing gum.”</p> - -<p>The others looked impressed.</p> - -<p>“What did he reply?” asked the Infant.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He said, ‘Dear me, I had forgotten the -need of a rarefied atmosphere for the college -graduate. I am sorry that I am no longer at -leisure.’ And I walked out.”</p> - -<p>“You did just right,” declared the House -Plant, warmly, confirmed in her opinion by a -murmur of assent from the girls.</p> - -<p>“Right!” echoed the Infant. “Babbie, you -are the dearest old goose in the world. You -will never succeed nor make any money if -you take an attitude like that.”</p> - -<p>“I shall not write for money,” declared -Barbara, beginning to pace the floor. “What -is money, compared to accomplishment? I -shall go home, shut myself up, and write, -write, write—until recognition comes to -me. I am sure it will come if I work and -wait!”</p> - -<p>She flung her head back with her usual -independent gesture, and the crimson color -rose in her cheeks. And the girls eyed, a little -awesomely, this splendid prodigy, in whose -powers they believed with that absolute, unquestioning -faith which is found only in youth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -and college. The short silence was broken -almost immediately by the Infant.</p> - -<p>“Are you going to have a chance to write -at home, undisturbed?” she asked. “Our -house is a perfect Bedlam all the time. Two -young sisters and a raft of brothers keep me -occupied every minute.”</p> - -<p>“There are four children younger than I, -too,” answered Barbara. “But do you suppose -that I am going to allow them to come between -me and my life-work? It would not be -right; and my mother would never permit it.”</p> - -<p>“Mine would,” said the Infant, gloomily. -“She thinks it is the mission of an elder sister -to help manage those who have the luck -to be younger and less responsible. I wish -your mother could have come to graduation, -Babbie. She might have converted my mother -to her standpoint.”</p> - -<p>“I wish she had come,” said Barbara, wistfully. -“It seems as if she might have managed -some way.”</p> - -<p>Her mind flew back to the quiet little Western -town,—a thousand miles away; to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -household full of children, presided over by -that serene, sweet-faced mother. Why could -not that mother have left the children with -some one, and have come to see her eldest -daughter graduate “with honor”?</p> - -<p>“What a splendid thing it is to have a -real gift to develop, like Babbie’s,” sighed the -House Plant.</p> - -<p>Barbara looked uncomfortable. “You all -have them,” she said. “I think I talk about -mine more than the rest of you.”</p> - -<p>“You may give us all presentation copies -of your magnum opus,” announced the Infant, -mercenarily. “You will come forth from -your lair—I mean workroom—a dozen years -hence, and find us all living happy, commonplace -lives. The House Plant here will be fulfilling -her name by raising six Peter Thompson -children and embroidering lingerie waists. -Atalanta,—by the way, girls, mother asked -me why we called that very slow-moving girl -Atalanta, and I told her I was ashamed to -think that she should ask such a question,—well, -Atalanta will marry that Yale individual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -who never took his eyes off her at Class-Day -march. And I think you are mean not to tell -us, Atalanta, when we know you’re engaged.”</p> - -<p>The Infant threw a spoon at her blushing -friend, who unexpectedly justified her nickname -by dodging it.</p> - -<p>“As for the Sphinx,” went on the Infant, -happy in the unusual feat of holding the attention -of the girls, “the poor Sphinx can’t -get married because she never says enough -for a man to know whether it’s yes or no. -She will just keep on loving her pyramids -and cones, and teaching algebraic riddles, until -she dies. Knowledge will always look so dignified -that she will frighten men away. Father -exclaimed to me, when he met her, ‘What -a lovely, calm, classical face!’ I said, ‘Yes, -that is our Knowledge all over.’ And you can -imagine how I felt when she opened those -dignified lips of hers and remarked conversationally, -‘Say! Isn’t it hot as hot?’”</p> - -<p>The girls laughed at poor Knowledge, and -the cruel Infant continued to read the future.</p> - -<p>“Well, all of us will get presentation copies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -of Bab’s great work, even I, who will be making -home happy ‘if no one comes to marry me’”—</p> - -<p>“‘And I don’t see why they should,’” finished -Barbara, cuttingly. She rapped the Inspired -Soothsayer on her fluffy head with a -curtain-rod.</p> - -<p>“Your mind runs on matrimony to a disgusting -extent, Infant,” she warned. “I shall -never marry unless I can carry on my writing.”</p> - -<p>“And be a second Mrs. Jellyby?” inquired -her friend. “All right; I’ll come to live with -you and keep the little Jellybys out of the -gravy while you unveil the characters of some -Horace and Viola to the admiring world. -Oh, girls! The fudge is gone, and it’s twelve -o’clock, and even <i>my</i> eyelids will not stay -apart much longer.”</p> - -<p>The girls rose slowly from their improvised -chairs, and stood together, half-unconsciously -taking note of the dear, familiar room in its -dismantled, unfamiliar condition. Out in the -corridor a few unseen classmates began to sing,</p> - -<p class="center">“Gaudeamus igitur, juvenes dum sumus—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What on earth are they gaudeamusing -about to-night?” growled the Infant; but no -one answered her.</p> - -<p>They stood looking at each other in silence.</p> - -<p>“Some of you I won’t see again,” said -Barbara, in a wavering voice. “My train goes -so early. Dear, dear Sphinxy,—and Atalanta—”</p> - -<p>An odd, snuffling sound caused her to look -around. “The Infant’s crying!” she exclaimed.</p> - -<p>The Infant threw her arms about Barbara’s -neck. “I guess I have feelings,” she sobbed, -“if I did try to make things cheerful. Don’t -forget me, Babbie dear, for I do love you -astonishingly, and expect great things from -you.”</p> - -<p>Barbara hurried blindly down the corridor, -with the faithful House Plant beside her. At -the end she turned, and faintly saw the four -white figures still watching her. They were -looking their last at their beloved companion, -the girl whose strength of character and instinctive -leadership had first attracted, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -held them together, through four eventful -years at college.</p> - -<p>Barbara waved her handkerchief at the -silent figures, and her head dropped on her -room-mate’s shoulder as they neared their -familiar door.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Helen dear!” she sobbed. “How can -we ever leave this college?”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER II<br /> - -<small>HOME</small></h2> - - -<p class="drop-cap">THE Overland Passenger was clanking -its way across the prairies of -the middle West. Barbara, sitting -on one of the stuffy red-plush seats, pressed -her face against the window-pane, and looked -out into the night. There was little to see,—the -long, monotonous stretches of land, -cloaked in shadows, with dim lights showing -from a few farmhouses, and a wide expanse of -sky, freckled with stars, above. But Barbara -was nearing home, and the dull pain which -had been with her since the last good-bys at -college was forgotten, as her eyes drank in -every familiar detail of the shadowy landscape. -Above the purr and hiss of the engine sounded -the jerky refrain of the rails, and the girl’s -heart echoed the words.</p> - -<p>“Near-home, near-home,” it throbbed.</p> - -<p>The noise of the train deepened as the piers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -of a bridge flashed by. A porter with a lighted -lantern passed through the car, and a traveling -agent in the seat ahead began to gather -up his hand-baggage. But Barbara still gazed -out of the window, over the great piles of -pine that marked the boundary of the Auburn -lumber-yard, towards a dim light that shone -down from the hill.</p> - -<p>“Auburn, Auburn! This way out,” called -the brakeman.</p> - -<p>A thin, gray man stood at the steps of the -car almost before the wheels ceased to move. -His voice and his hands went up simultaneously.</p> - -<p>“Hel-lo, little girl,” he said to Barbara.</p> - -<p>“Dear old Dad!” said Barbara to him.</p> - -<p>“We’ll have to trust to the livery,” said -Dr. Grafton. “Maud S. has had a hard day, -and I didn’t have the heart to have her harnessed -again to-night.”</p> - -<p>“There’s a rummage-sale hat,” laughed -Barbara, as a driver in a shabby suit of livery -and an ill-fitting top hat approached for her -baggage checks.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> - -<p>Auburn knew naught of cabs. A “hack -line,” including perhaps three dozen carriages -which had passed beyond the wedding -and funeral stage, attended passengers -to and from the railway station. In a spirit -of metropolitanism which seized the town at -rare intervals, the proprietors of the “line” -had decided to livery their drivers. So they -had attended a rummage sale, given by the -women members of an indigent church, and -had purchased therefrom every top hat in -sight, regardless of size, shape, or vintage. -These they had distributed among their drivers -in an equally reckless and care-free way. -Auburn, as a whole, had not yet ceased to -thrill with pride at her liveried service; but -those of her inhabitants who happened to be -blessed with a sense of humor experienced a -sensation other than that of pride, upon beholding -the pompous splendor of Banker -Willowby’s last season’s hat held in place -by the eyebrows of Peanuts Barker, or Piety -Sanborn’s decorous beaver perched upon the -manly brow of Spike Hannegan.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> - -<p>The mutual enjoyment of this other sensation -renewed the old feeling of fellowship -between Barbara and her father.</p> - -<p>“It’s good to have you back, Girl,” he said.</p> - -<p>Barbara crept a bit closer. “It’s good to be -here,” she answered.</p> - -<p>The Grafton house stood at the top of the -longest hill in Auburn, and it was ten minutes -more before the carriage stopped at the maple -tree in front of the doctor’s home. The electric -lights of Auburn, for economical reasons, -were put out upon the arrival of the moon, -and it was still and dark when the two started -up the walk together. The stars hung low -near the horizon, a sleepy bird was talking to -himself in the willow tree, and the air was full -of the bitter-sweet of cherry blossoms. A little -gray, shaggy dog came bounding over the -terrace to meet them, and the doorway was -full of children’s heads.</p> - -<p>Barbara’s mother stood on the front porch. -Her eyes were soft and full, and her face was -the glad-sorry kind. She did not say a word, -only opened her arms, and the girl went in.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> - -<p>The children’s greetings were characteristic. -Eighteen-year-old Jack added a hearty -smack to his “Hello, Barb”; David laid a -pale little cheek against his sister’s glowing -one; and the Kid thrust his school report into -Barbara’s hand, and inquired in eager tones -what gifts were forthcoming. Only one member -of the family circle was absent.</p> - -<p>“Gassy’s gone to bed,” exclaimed Jack. -“She’s got a grouch.”</p> - -<p>“I have not,” retorted an aggressive voice. -“Hello, Barbara.” A thin little girl of eleven, -in a nightgown, her head covered with bumps -of red hair wrapped about kid-curlers, seized -Barbara from behind. There was a vigorous -hug, which sent a thrill of surprise to the -big sister’s heart, and Gassy became her own -undemonstrative self again.</p> - -<p>“Gee, you ought to see how you look!” -said Jack.</p> - -<p>“<i>You</i> ought not, ’cause ’twould make you -unhappy,” retorted Gassy.</p> - -<p>“I should think you’d <i>feel</i> unhappy, sleeping -on that tiara of bumps. Uneasy lies the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -head that wears a crown. You look just like -a tomato-worm.”</p> - -<p>“Careful, Jack,” cautioned his father.</p> - -<p>But the warning came too late. The small -girl rushed at her tormentor, leapt upon him, -and thrust a cold little hand inside of his gray -sweater.</p> - -<p>“There, there, children, don’t squabble before -Barbara; she’s forgotten that you are not -always friends,” said Mrs. Grafton. “Run back -to bed, Cecilia; you’ll take cold. The rest of -us are going, too. It’s long past bedtime.”</p> - -<p>Barbara had expected to find the first nights -away from her college room lonely ones; but -the big four-poster, ugly as it had always -seemed to her, was an improvement upon the -cot that was a divan by day and a bed by -night. Blessed, too, was the silence that was -almost noisy, out-of-doors, and the good-night -pat of the mother, as she tucked her -firstling in. It was good, after all, to be at -home, and good, too, that she could be of use -there. Her last thought was of the new green -carpet in the sitting-room below.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s an outrage on æsthetics, that shade,” -she said to herself. “I wish mother hadn’t -bought it until I got home. They do need -me here.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“It’s the same old place,” said Barbara, -at four o’clock the next afternoon, “the same -dear, old, sleepy place. Aside from the fact -that I find some more tucks let down in gowns -and some more inches added to trousers each -year, I don’t think Auburn changes anything—even -her mind—from going-away time to -coming-home time. Procrastination is the -spice of life, here.”</p> - -<p>“The things that keep a town awake are -usually sent away to college,” said her mother, -slyly. “But Auburn is solid, as well as conservative.”</p> - -<p>“It’s pitifully, painfully solid,” said Barbara. -“If it only realized its own deficiencies, there -would be hope for it. But it is always so complacent -and contented with itself. The road -that leads up the hill to Dyer’s Corner is -characteristic of the whole town. Some man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -with plenty of time on his hands—or for his -feet—ambled along up the hill in the beginning -of things, and for fifty years the people -have followed his long, devious path, rather -than branch out and originate another easier. -I believe that any sign of progress, civic or -intellectual, would cut Auburn to the quick,—if -there is any quick to cut, in the town.”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t you noted the fine schedule on -our electric-car line?” laughed her mother.</p> - -<p>“That’s just what I was thinking of. I -commented on the improved time that the -cars make to Miss Bates, this morning. To my -surprise she stiffened at once. ‘You ain’t the -first to make complaint,’ she said. ‘There -ain’t no need of running a street-car like a -fire-engine; and they say that since this new -schedule has been fixed, the conductors won’t -deliver dinner-pails to the factory men, or -hold the car for you while you go on a short -errand. Auburn ain’t going to tolerate that.’ -Doesn’t that sound just like Miss Bates, and -like Auburn?”</p> - -<p>“That’s right; run down Auburn,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -Jack, tossing his strap of school-books on a -chair, and hanging his cap on the rubber-plant. -“You’ll make yourself good and popular -if you go about expressing opinions like that -in public. Auburn was good enough for Airy -Fairy Lilian in high-school days, but having -received four years of ‘culchaw,’ and a starter -on the alphabet to add to her name, the plebeian -ways of the old home-place jar her -nerves. I like your loyalty, Mistress Barbara!”</p> - -<p>“That is totally uncalled for, Jack,” said -Barbara. “I like Auburn as much as you do. -But it’s not an intellectual affection. I can’t -help seeing, in spite of my love for it, that -the town is raw and Western,—and painfully -crude.”</p> - -<p>“An intellectual affection! That’s as bad -as a hygienic plum-pudding,” groaned Jack. -“If I didn’t have to go out to coach the football -team in five minutes, I would sit down -and express my sympathy at the stultifying -life which you must lead for the next sixty -years. Unless, of course, we marry you off. -There is always that alternative.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I hope you <i>are</i> going to be contented, -dear,” said Mrs. Grafton, as her tall son relieved -the rubber-plant of its burden, and -clattered noisily out of the room. “I realize -that after four years of the jolly intercourse -you have had with the girls, and the growing -college life, we must seem slow and prosaic -to you here; nothing much happens -when you are away. Of course, I don’t miss -things as much as you will. <i>I’m</i> used to the -old slow way, and besides, I’m too busy to -have time to think of what is lacking. But I -don’t want you to be hungry for what is not. -The happiest thing I’ve had to think about -all these four years, has been your home-coming, -but I’ve been a little worried about -your coming, sometimes. Do you think you -are going to be contented with us?”</p> - -<p>Barbara’s answer was judicial. “Why, yes, -I think so,” she said. “Of course I shall miss -the college life, and the intellectual stimulus I -had there, but <i>I’m</i> going to work hard, too. -All the theories I learned at Vassar are just -ready to be put into practice, and I have so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -much to give the world that I can hardly wait -to take my pen in hand. Oh, I am so glad, -mother, that my life-work is laid out for me. -I tell you frankly that I never could stand -living in Auburn if I were not busy. The sordidness -of the workers, and the pettiness -of the idlers, would make me desperate. But -I shall go to work at once, and write—write—all -the things I have been longing to give -utterance to for four years.”</p> - -<p>“But you can’t write all the time,” said -Mrs. Grafton.</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t intend to. There are other -things to do. There has never been any organized -philanthropy in Auburn, and there -is plenty of work for somebody in that line. -I hope, too, that I may fall in with some congenial -people who will care to do some regular, -systematic study with me,—though I suppose -they will be hard to find in a town of this size. -Then, too, I thought that I might help Susan.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Grafton’s busy needle flew as she -talked. “How, dear?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, in her studies. Susan and I kept<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -together in high-school days, and I think that -it has always been a tragedy in her life that -she couldn’t have a college education. She -has a fine mind,—not original, you know, but -clear-thinking,—and she loves study. Poor -girl, I can help her so much. And of course -it will be a mental stimulus to me, too.”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid Susan won’t have time.”</p> - -<p>“Why, what is she doing?”</p> - -<p>“Housework,” replied her mother. “She -is cooking, and caring for her father and -brothers, and she does it well, too.”</p> - -<p>“What a shame!”</p> - -<p>“What, to do it well?”</p> - -<p>“You know what I mean, you wicked -mother. A shame to let all that mental ability -go to waste, while the pots and pans are -being scoured. It doesn’t take brains to do -housework.”</p> - -<p>“Doesn’t it!” sighed Mrs. Grafton; “I find, -all the time, that it takes much more than I -possess. When it comes to the problems of -how to let down Cecilia’s tucks without showing, -how to vary the steak-chops diet that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -we grow so tired of, and how to decrease the -gas-bills, I feel my mental inferiority. I’m -glad that you have come home with new -ideas; we need them, dear.”</p> - -<p>A voice rose from the foot of the stairs -below,—a shrill soprano voice, that skipped -the scale from C to C, and back again to A.</p> - -<p>“That’s Ellen,” said Mrs. Grafton, laying -down her sewing with a sigh. “I can’t teach -her to come to me when she wants me. She -says that she doesn’t mind messages if she -can ‘holler ’em,’ but she ‘won’t climb stairs -fer Mrs. Roosevelt herself.’ I suppose I’ll have -to go down.”</p> - -<p>“What does she want?”</p> - -<p>“That’s what makes it interesting: you -never know. Perhaps an ironing-sheet, or the -key to the fruit-closet. Maybe the plumber -has come, or the milkman is to be paid, or -the telephone is ringing. Or possibly a book-agent -has made his appearance. She always -keeps it a mystery until I get down.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see how on earth you live in that -way. I never could get anything done.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I don’t accomplish much,” sighed her -mother. “The days ought to be three times as -long, to hold all the things they bring to be -done. My life is like the mother’s bag in the -‘Swiss Family Robinson.’”</p> - -<p>“I can’t work that way,” said Barbara. “It’s -ruinous to any continuity of thought. I suppose -that means that I’ll have to shut myself -up in my room to write.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Grafton had gone downstairs.</p> - -<p>“I don’t see how mother can stand it,” said -the girl to herself. “Two telephone calls, an -interview with the butcher, a stop to tie up -David’s finger, a hunt for father’s lost letter, -some money to be sent down to the vegetable -man, and two calls to the front door,—that -makes eight interruptions in the last hour. If -she would only systematize things, so she -wouldn’t be disturbed, she wouldn’t look so -tired as she does. There ought not to be so -much work in this house.”</p> - -<p>She glanced around the big, homey-looking -living-room, through the door into the -narrow, old-fashioned hall, and beyond, into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -the sunny dining-room. The house was an -old one; the furnishing, though comfortable, -showed the signs of hard usage and disorder. -An umbrella reposed on the couch, Jack’s -football mask lay on the table, and her mother’s -ravelings littered the floor. A heterogeneous -collection of battered animals occupied -the window-sill, and a pile of the doctor’s -memoranda was thrust under the clock.</p> - -<p>“I don’t wonder that things stray away -here,” she added, “with no one to pick them -up but mother. She ought to insist upon orderliness -from each member of the family, and -save herself. I’m afraid that her over-work -is partly her own fault.”</p> - -<p>“Another mishap,” said her mother, as she -picked up her sewing on entering the room. -“The gas-stove this time. Ellen can’t make it -burn, and I’ve had to telephone the gas-man. -Her baking is just under way, too, and I’ll -have to send out for some bread for supper. -I hate to ask you to do it, dear, this first day, -but I’m afraid that Jack won’t be back in time -to go.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Where shall I go? To Miss Pettibone’s?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; my purse is on the table. Get a loaf -of bread and some cookies, and anything -else that would be good for supper. The -meal is likely to be a slim one.”</p> - -<p>Miss Pettibone’s tiny front room took the -place of a delicatessen shop in Auburn. She -was a little, brown, fat acorn of a woman, who -had been wooed in her unsuspicious middle -age by a graceless young vagabond, who had -brightened her home for six weeks and then -departed, carrying with him the little old -maid’s heart, and the few thousand dollars -which represented her capital. She was of the -type of woman who would feel more grief -than rage at such faithlessness, and she refused -to allow her recreant lover to be traced. -After the first shock was over, she turned to -her one accomplishment as a means of livelihood, -and produced for sale such delicious -bread, such delectable tarts, such marvelous -cakes and cookies, that all Auburn profited -by the absence of the rogue. She did catering -in a small way, and sometimes, as an especial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -favor, serving; and the sight of Miss Pettibone -in a stiff white apron, with a shiny brass tray -under her arm, going into a side entrance, -was as sure a sign of a party within, as Japanese -lanterns on the front porch, or an order -for grapefruit at the grocer’s. The tragedy of -her life had not embittered her, and all the grief -that she had stirred into her cakes was as -little noticeable in the light loaves as the evidences -of sorrow in her intercourse with the -world. Optimism was the yeast of her hard -little life, and had raised her to the soundness -and sweetness of her own bread.</p> - -<p>There was no one in the shop as Barbara -swung the door open and set a-jingle the bell -at the top. But there was encouragement in -the sight of a spicy gingerbread, some small -yellow patty-cakes, some sugary crullers, and -a pot of brown baked beans, in the glass-covered -counter. Miss Pettibone came bustling -into the room at the sound of the bell.</p> - -<p>“Why, Barbara Grafton,” she said delightedly; -“you, of all people! When did you get -back?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Last night,” answered Barbara.</p> - -<p>“Well, I declare! If I’m not glad to see -you! You haven’t changed a mite,—even -to get taller. I guess you’ve got your growth -now. You spindled a good deal while you -was stretching, but you seem to be fleshing -up now.”</p> - -<p>“I’m always a vulgarly healthy person,” -said Barbara. “But how about you? How is -the rheumatism?”</p> - -<p>“It’s in its place when the roll is called. -I’ve had a lame shoulder all spring.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry about that.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you don’t need to be. That’s one of -the things that make dying easy. Providence -was pretty kind when she began to invent -aches and pains. Just think how hard it would -be to step off, if you had to go when you was -perfect physically. But that ain’t the usual -way, thank goodness! All of the rheumatic -shoulders, and bad backs, and poor sights, -and failing memories, are just stones that -pave the road to dying. I guess that’s what -St. Paul meant when he said, ‘We die daily.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -But you don’t look as though you had begun, -yet.”</p> - -<p>“College food seems to agree with me, Miss -Pettibone, but it’s not like your baking. I’ve -come for a loaf of bread, and to carry off that -pot of beans.”</p> - -<p>“You can have the bread, child, but not the -beans; they was sold hours ago.”</p> - -<p>“Too bad,” sighed Barbara. “Give me the -gingerbread.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, but that’s sold, too.”</p> - -<p>“Why do you keep them, then?”</p> - -<p>“I always ask my customers to leave them, -if they ain’t in any hurry for them. It keeps -my shop full, and besides, it makes folks that -come in late see what they’ve missed. I notice -that the minute a sold sign goes on a -thing, it raises its value with most people. -Barbara, it does my heart good to see you -back again.”</p> - -<p>“I’m glad to be back, too. How much are -the little cakes?”</p> - -<p>“Are you, my dear? Well, I’m glad to -hear you say so. Twenty cents a dozen. Do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -you want them right away? You see, going -away from home spoils lots of young folks, -these days. Sending ’em away is like teaching -them to tell time when they’re children. -Of course it’s a matter of education, but after -that they’re always on the outlook to see -if the clock is fast or slow. And most of the -young people who go away to college find it -pretty slow in Auburn. I’m glad that <i>you</i> -ain’t going to be discontented.”</p> - -<p>Barbara looked guilty. She did not want -to accept undeserved praise, and yet it was -hard to be frank without being impolite.</p> - -<p>“Of course I expect to miss college life, -Miss Pettibone,” she began.</p> - -<p>“Dear me, yes. I know what that will -mean to you. Why, after I came back from -Maine, twenty years ago, I was as lonesome -for sea-air as though it had been a person. -To this day I long for the tang of that salt -wind. That’s why I use whale-oil soap—because -the smell of the suds reminds me of -the sea. Of <i>course</i> you’re going to miss college, -Barbara.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I shall try to keep so busy that I won’t -have time to be lonely,” said Barbara.</p> - -<p>“That’s the right spirit. It won’t be hard -to do, either, in your house. Your family is -a large one, and your mother is put to it to do -everything. Gassy ain’t old enough yet to be -of much help, and it’s easier to keep a secret -than a girl, in Auburn. I guess she’ll be glad -to have you here to pitch in. It’s a good -thing that you like housework.”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid I don’t know much about it. -Housekeeping is not my forte. Of course I -shall help mother, but I don’t intend to do -that kind of work to the exclusion of all other. -I intend to save the best of myself for my -writing.”</p> - -<p>Miss Pettibone looked properly awed.</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s a wonderful thing to be able to -write. I always said that you’d be an authoress, -when I used to see those school compositions -of yours that the ‘Conservative’ used -to print. Why, Barbara, you come in here -once when you was in Kindergarten school, -and you set down on my front window-sill,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -and you says, ‘Miss Pettibone,’ you says, -‘I’ve written a pome.’ And I says, ‘Good -fer you, Barbara, let’s hear it.’ So you -smoothed down your white apron, and recited -it to me. ‘It’s about my mother,’ you -says; ‘and this is it:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">‘Oh, Mrs. Grafton,’ said Miss Gray,</div> -<div class="verse">‘Oh, do your children run away?’</div> -<div class="verse">‘Oh, no,’ said she, ‘they never do;</div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Because I always use my shoe.’</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="unindent">Then when you was through you explained -to me that your ma didn’t really whip you. -You just had to put in that part about the -shoe to make it rhyme, you said. You was an -awful old-fashioned child, Barbara!”</p> - -<p>“My poetry was of about the same quality -then that it is now,” laughed Barbara. “I’ll -take the bread and the cakes with me, Miss -Pettibone. This is like old Auburn days. I -haven’t carried a loaf of bread on the street -since I left home.”</p> - -<p>“Well, paper bundles with the steam rising -from them ain’t very swell, but sometimes the -insides makes it worth while,” said the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -baker. “Come in and see me often, Barbara, -when it ain’t an errand. And give my love to -your mother. She hasn’t been looking well -lately, seems to me.”</p> - -<p>Barbara smiled her good-by, and the little -bell jingled merrily as the door swung shut.</p> - -<p>“It’s always good to see Miss Pettibone,” -she said to herself as she started up the quiet -street. “She belongs in a story-book,—a -little felt one with cheery red covers. It is queer -about her, too. She is as provincial as any -one in Auburn, and yet she is never commonplace.”</p> - -<p>At the corner she encountered another of -the characters of Auburn. This was Mrs. Kotferschmidt, -the old German woman, whose -husband had been for years the proprietor of -the one boat-livery of the town. He had died -during the past winter, and Barbara, meeting -the widow, stopped to offer her condolences. -The old boatman had taught her to swim and -to row, and her expressions of sympathy were -genuine.</p> - -<p>“Mother wrote me about your loss,” she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -said. “I was so sorry to hear about Mr. Kotferschmidt.”</p> - -<p>The old lady rustled in her crape, but the -stolid face in the black bonnet showed no -sign of emotion.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you don’t need to mind that,” she -said politely. “He was getting old, anyways. -In the spring I hired me a stronger man to -help me mit the boats.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Kotferschmidt was the only passer -Barbara met on her way home. Chestnut -Street was practically deserted. The school-children’s -procession had passed, and the -business-men’s brigade had not yet started -to move. The shaded avenue, with its green -arch of trees overhead, stretched its quiet, -leisurely way from Miss Pettibone’s shop to -the Grafton house. A shaft of red sun cut its -way through the thick leaves, and covered -with a glorified light the square, substantial -houses that bordered the road. A few children -played upon the street, a dog was taking -an undisturbed siesta on the sidewalk, -and three snowy pigeons were cooing softly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -as they strutted along the gutter. It was all -pretty and peaceful, but quiet, desperately -quiet. Barbara’s thoughts went back to the -college campus, crowded with chattering students, -leisurely professors, hurrying messenger-boys, -and busy employees, and full of -activity at this hour. What if the Sphinx -could see her now, or the Infant, or the dear -House Plant, with that plebeian loaf of -bread under her arm, on that deserted Western -road? She knew what they would say; she -could almost feel their glances of pity. Oh, it -was a misfortune to be born in a place like -Auburn,—a stultifying, crude, middle-western -town. She choked down a lump in her -throat that threatened her.</p> - -<p>“I must get to work,” she thought. “Soon,—soon! -I shall never be able to exist in -Auburn, if I give myself time to think about -it.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER III<br /> - -<small>THE THEORY OF PHILOSOPHY</small></h2> - - -<p class="drop-cap">IT was eight o’clock on a warm morning -in June, a few days after Barbara’s return. -She rose from the table, where she had -been breakfasting in solitude, and sought her -mother.</p> - -<p>It was not easy to find her. The girl looked -into the kitchen, passed through her father’s -office, and ran upstairs to Mrs. Grafton’s -chamber—all without result.</p> - -<p>“Jack!” she called, stopping at the door -of her brother’s room, and severely regarding -the recumbent figure in bed. “Jack! I’d -be ashamed of lying in bed so late! Where’s -mother?”</p> - -<p>A muffled groan, a tossing of the long -swathed figure—and silence.</p> - -<p>“Jack! Tell me at least, if you know where -she is.”</p> - -<p>The swathed figure rose up in majesty, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -a pair of half-open, sleepy eyes became visible -in a yawning face.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll be hanged!” said Jack. “If you -didn’t actually wake me up to ask where -mother is. What do you think I am! A supernatural -dreamer, with visions of everything -mother does floating around my bed? Think -I can see all over the house with my eyes -shut?”</p> - -<p>Jack flounced back, and recomposed his -long limbs for slumber.</p> - -<p>“You ought to be up, anyway, by this time,” -declared Barbara, eyeing him with cold disapproval. -“There are plenty of things that you -could do to help.”</p> - -<p>She walked down the stairs, puzzling over -the strange lack of system that she saw everywhere -about her. There was Jack, lying at -his ease in his room, with a superb disregard -of responsibilities. She caught a glimpse of -Gassy sitting in the dusty, disorderly library, -reading the story from which she had been -forcibly separated the evening before at bedtime. -And finally, as she reëntered the dining-room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -she stumbled over the Kid, who -was arranging plates, taken from the uncleared -dining-table, in a neat line on the carpet.</p> - -<p>“Don’t upset my ships!” he roared, as -Barbara unconsciously crunched a butter-plate -under her erring tread.</p> - -<p>She stared in horror at the débris; then, -sweeping the plates up, to the accompaniment -of shrieks from the youngest Grafton, she sat -down on a chair and took her struggling little -brother on her lap.</p> - -<p>“Charles Grafton, listen to me!” she said -firmly but not angrily, remembering the pedagogic -articles on “Anger and the Child,” -and the extracts which had filled a large -college note-book. “Charles! What do you -mean by doing such a dreadful thing as this? -Answer, immediately.”</p> - -<p>It was while she was trying to understand -his stormy articulations that Mrs. Grafton appeared, -and sank down wearily in a chair near -the door. The Kid immediately wriggled from -his sister and ran to his mother, weeping.</p> - -<p>“Just see what this boy has done!” cried Barbara.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -“I picked up half these plates from the -floor. I never saw such a child! This table ought -to have been cleared long ago, anyway.”</p> - -<p>“Ellen can’t clear the table until breakfast -is over,” said Mrs. Grafton, soothing the -little boy in her arms. “Your father, Cecilia, -Charles, and I had our breakfast as usual at -quarter after seven. I imagine that Ellen was -waiting for you to finish. Moreover, the gas-man -came to look at the meter in the cellar, -and she and I both went down with him. I -just came up from there.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Grafton’s face settled into weary lines, -and she sighed heavily. But Barbara did not -notice. She was looking at the new egg-stain -on the Wilton rug.</p> - -<p>“Mother,” she said, in her fresh, energetic -voice, “I really do think things might be -managed more systematically here than they -actually are. You know that, if there is one -thing that we learn at college, it is the need -of system. Now see here!” Barbara rose, -and began to pace back and forth over the -egg-stain. “We rise at six-thirty, an absurdly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -early hour, though perhaps necessitated by -the work of a large family—”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” interposed her mother, smiling -through her pallor. “We <i>all</i> rise at half-past -six.”</p> - -<p>Barbara flushed. “Now, mother!” she said. -“I know I haven’t done it these few days -since I came home, but that was accidental. -It shall not happen again. And Jack is dreadful -about getting up!”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Grafton, “this ‘system’?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. We should rise and finish breakfast -by quarter-past eight. Then let Ellen do -the dishes, of course, and all the work in the -kitchen. Then make Jack get up and do the -outside work, the lawns, sweeping the porches, -and so forth, to get it out of the way early. -Cecilia,—how I hate that nickname Gassy!—Cecilia -ought to do her share. She should -be taught to keep her room in order, and the -library too, I think.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t!” shouted an excitable little voice -from the next room.</p> - -<p>“Don’t talk that way, Cecilia,” called Barbara.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -“You’ll never improve, if you don’t do -something in this world.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t <i>you</i> do something, then?” -retorted the voice, “instead of telling mother -how to run the house?”</p> - -<p>A smile flickered upon Mrs. Grafton’s pale -face, and died in another sigh. Barbara rose -and shut the dining-room door.</p> - -<p>“Now I”—she resumed—“I will guarantee -to keep the lower floor looking fresh -and clean,—not doing the sweeping, of course; -and I will take care of my own room and Jack’s -also. That will probably occupy me until half-past -nine, after which I must spend my time -until twelve in writing every minute, undisturbed. -In this way, you see, we shall each -have our own individual work,—David and -the Kid being allowed to play,—and your -burden will be considerably lessened. And all -through a little application of system.”</p> - -<p>“System!” echoed her mother, mechanically -allowing Charles to slip from her lap.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Barbara. “That leaves your -room and David’s and the ordering for you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My room, and David’s, and the ordering,” -repeated Mrs. Grafton.</p> - -<p>“Why, yes,” Barbara responded, looking -curiously at her mother. “What is the matter, -dear? You look so queer and white. Aren’t -you well?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” replied Mrs. Grafton. “Here is -Susan coming to see you. Keep her out on -the porch, Barbara, there is so much to do in -the house.”</p> - -<p>Left alone, Mrs. Grafton’s eyes filled, and -her lips began to twitch nervously. “So much -to do!” she repeated. She put her handkerchief -up to her shaking lips. “What am I crying -for?” she asked herself sternly. “I never -used to be so foolish.” But her eyes kept filling -and her lips twitching. She had a feeling -that she was allowing herself to be weak. -Then a sense of hopelessness in a domestic -universe seemed to rise up and overwhelm -her, and she wept again.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she rose and hurried from the -room, as she caught the sound of Jack’s boots -on the stairs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’m so glad to see you!” cried Barbara, -pushing forward the best porch-chair to receive -her guest. “And I’m especially glad -that you came so early, for I shall be inaccessible -after ten o’clock. My literary hours -begin then.”</p> - -<p>Susan fanned herself. “I just stopped a -minute on my way to get some sewing-silk,” -she said, “but I couldn’t help trying to get a -glimpse of you again. How fresh and at leisure -you look, Babbie. All your work done -so soon?”</p> - -<p>“No-o,” answered Barbara, a slight blush -making her confession charming. “The fact -is, Sue, I got up later than usual this morning, -for some reason, and mother and I have -been taking our time in discussing a new -system of housekeeping, by which I am to -lighten mother’s labors considerably.”</p> - -<p>Susan looked wistful as she rocked back -and forth. “I suppose your college training -makes you accommodate yourself to all circumstances,” -she said. “It must be hard to -have to come to every-day living like this,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -after all the advantages you have had. I believe -you know enough theory to fit into any -situation.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” interposed Barbara, “not <i>every</i> -one.”</p> - -<p>“And all these four years,” went on Susan, -her sweet face sobering, “I have just been -doing housework, and trying to take dear -mother’s place. My life has been bounded by -dishpans and darning-cotton, and my associates -have been housemaids and dressmakers. -I haven’t improved at all.”</p> - -<p>“Now you are fishing!” rejoined Barbara. -“I must say, Susan, that as for not being a -college girl, you show it less than any other -girl I ever saw.”</p> - -<p>“You flatter me,” declared Susan. “And oh, -Barbara, I want to say that it’s awfully sweet -of you to be willing to read with me an hour -every day. It will help me ever so much, to -get your trained point of view about things. -I am so immature in my mental judgments, I -know.”</p> - -<p>“I am only too glad to help you,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -Barbara, heartily. “And really, Sue, you are -a godsend to me, for you are the only girl in -town that is congenial to me at all.”</p> - -<p>Susan looked pleased. “That’s kind of -you,” she answered. “Well, I must not keep -you from helping your mother. By the way, -how is she to-day? Everybody is saying how -tired and worn out she looks, and is glad that -you have come to share her burdens.”</p> - -<p>“Why, mother’s all right,” replied Barbara. -“How people will talk and gossip about -nothing! Good-by, Sue dear. Take some -roses on the way out. And let’s begin reading -to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>She paused a moment on the porch, looking -with appreciative eyes at the pretty lawn, -with its wealth of gay-colored nasturtiums -and roses. As she passed through the hall, -her eyes fell upon Gassy, still curled up in the -chair, and absorbed in her book.</p> - -<p>“Cecilia!” called Barbara, with all the authority -of an elder sister. “You have done -nothing all morning. Take the duster and -dust the living-room immediately.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> - -<p>The little girl’s legs kicked convulsively in -protest. “Oh-h, how I hate you, Barbara!” -she cried abstractedly. “I’ve only eight pages -more.”</p> - -<p>“Nearly ten o’clock!” sighed the girl, as -she mounted the stairs to her room. “I shan’t -get much done to-day.”</p> - -<p>She made her bed with resigned patience, -pinned an “Engaged” sign on her door, and -fell to work. But even through the closed -door came the busy sounds of an active household. -A thump, thump, thump of the furniture -downstairs in the living-room proclaimed that -a vigorous sweeping was going on; the maddening -click-click-clash outside drew her to -the window to behold Jack sulkily guiding -the lawn-mower. Just below her came the -measured hum of the sewing-machine, and -Barbara remembered, with a guilty start, that -she had promised to finish those sheets herself, -the day before. Finally, the sound of a toy -drum and the martial tramp of little feet in the -hall outside her door nerved her to action.</p> - -<p>“What <i>are</i> you doing, children?” she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -cried, putting her head out through the door -in despair.</p> - -<p>David and the Kid stopped marching simultaneously, -and eyed their big sister. “I’m -Teddy Roosevelt,” said David, mildly, “and -the Kid is all my Rough Riders.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you must not ride here,” declared -Barbara. “You are disturbing me and I can’t -write. Go downstairs and play,—right away. -You must not annoy me again.”</p> - -<p>She shut her door, cutting a yell from the -Kid into two sections. The martial sounds -died away, and she was free to resume her -thoughts. Their continuity seemed broken, -however. It was some time before she took -up her work again.</p> - -<p>About an hour afterwards, as Barbara, with -pleased expression and a flying pen, was half -way through an enthusiastically philosophic -peroration, she was disturbed by a sudden -jar, as if some heavy weight had fallen, shaking -her chair considerably. In a minute, footsteps -sounded outside again, and some one -timidly opened her door. It was David.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Mother—” he began.</p> - -<p>“I <i>cannot</i> be disturbed!” cried Barbara, -frantically, waving her pen. “Run away, -David; I simply must not be talked to!”</p> - -<p>The little fellow, with a scared look, obeyed, -and Barbara was once more left alone. It was -not the conglomeration of sounds which now -annoyed her,—it was the utter absence of the -noises to which she had grown accustomed. -The hum of the sewing-machine had abruptly -ceased, and a sudden cry of “Jack, come -here, quick!” had stopped the teasing whir -of the grass-cutter. To Barbara there was -something ominous in the sudden cessation.</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s nearly twelve, anyway,” she -exclaimed, shutting up her desk. “I’ll give -up for this morning.”</p> - -<p>She opened her door and went downstairs. -No one in the halls; no one in the living-room. -She turned toward the kitchen, but was -arrested by the sound of her father’s voice -coming from the sewing-room,—his voice, -but strange, low, unnatural.</p> - -<p>“There, Jack! That’s enough water.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -Slowly, Ellen. Stop crying, Charles. Mother’s -all right.”</p> - -<p>Barbara reached the door in one bound. -“What—” she began, and stopped, while her -shocked eyes took in the scene before her.</p> - -<p>In a frightened, huddled group near her -stood Gassy, David, and the Kid, staring at -their mother, who lay on the floor perfectly -quiet. Jack and Ellen stood by, with water -and cloths, and the doctor was gently sponging -away the blood from a cut on Mrs. Grafton’s -temple. No one spoke to Barbara or -noticed her.</p> - -<p>As she crossed over, brushing the children -from her path, her father looked up and saw -the alarmed look on her face. “Your mother -fainted, that’s all,” he said reassuringly. -“She fell from the sewing-machine and cut -herself. But she will be all right soon!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Grafton opened her eyes and faintly -smiled.</p> - -<p>“O mother dear!” cried Barbara. “O -mother! It is my fault! I said I would do -those sheets yesterday.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Grafton began to cry. “I don’t want -to hear about sheets,” she sobbed weakly.</p> - -<p>“No, dear, no, dear, you needn’t,” soothed -the doctor, motioning Barbara away.</p> - -<p>It was a new sensation to Barbara to stand -back, while the doctor carried Mrs. Grafton -upstairs to her room, and, aided only slightly, -put her to bed. Mechanically she did as ordered, -and followed her father out of the -room, when her mother had fallen asleep, with -a feeling that the end of the world had come, -and that “system” had deserted the universe.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is a nervous break-down,” said the -doctor, throwing himself into an easy-chair -in the living-room. “I might have known -that it would come, with the crushing weight -of this household on her delicate shoulders. -But your mother is so brave and bright that -I didn’t realize what she has been doing.”</p> - -<p>“And of course I’ve been away,” sighed -Barbara.</p> - -<p>“Well, <i>she</i> must go away now,” said Dr. -Grafton, with determination. “A complete -rest and change she must have, as soon as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -possible. And Barbara, my girl, you’ll have -to take the helm.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I will,” she cried confidently. “I can -and will gladly. I won’t let it crush <i>me</i>. I’ll -reduce it all to a science.”</p> - -<p>“H’m,” said her father. “This science is -not taught at Vassar. However, I don’t see -what else we can do. And your mother must -go at once.”</p> - -<p>Barbara lost her sense of the logical continuity -of events during the next few days. -Packing, planning, consoling small brothers, -encouraging her mother, who was inclined to -rebellion,—the minutes and hours flew. Before -she realized, she stood one morning on -the front porch with her arms around the -sobbing Kid, resolutely forcing a smile, while -she waved a cheerful farewell to the departing -phaeton, containing a very pale mother and -a very determined-looking father.</p> - -<p>“Good-by, mother dear!” called little David, -winking away his tears. “Come back soon.”</p> - -<p>“Come back <i>well!</i>” added Barbara, cheerfully.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER IV<br /> - -<small>THE PRACTICE</small></h2> - - -<p class="drop-cap">MAUD S. lengthened her measured -tread an infinitesimally small distance, -in response to the doctor’s -impatient command. But she did it sorrowfully, -and with the air of yielding to a child’s -whim. Maud S. had been born and brought -up in Auburn, and she had been educated to -a stern sense of the proprieties. It was right -and proper to forego appearances, and even -to abandon one’s dignity, if necessary, upon -a call of mercy; but a trip to the station, with -a trunk aboard, and a feeble passenger inside, -certainly ought to be made decently and in -order. Moreover, it was the first outing that -Mrs. Grafton had taken for eight years, and -the occasion was one that required proper -observance. To be told to “Chirk up, Maud,” -right in front of Banker Willowby’s house, -was certainly irritating, and her excessive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -good-breeding showed in the forbearance with -which she received the admonition. Maud S. -made up in refinement and courtesy what -she lacked in speed, and she showed her delicacy, -even in her resentment, by the ladylike -way in which she flapped her ears forward, -in order that she might not hear the domestic -conversation that was going on in the carriage -behind her.</p> - -<p>“I feel like a deserter from the regiment,” -sighed Mrs. Grafton. “I ought not to be going -away from home.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m sorry to say it,” responded the -doctor, “but you certainly ought to be getting -away from home just as fast as the train will -carry you,—and Maud S. will condescend to -take you to it. I can’t get you out of Auburn -too soon.”</p> - -<p>“It is wicked of me to leave the house and -the children.”</p> - -<p>“It would be wicked of me not to <i>make</i> -you leave the house and the children! You -have had an undisturbed diet of house and -children four years too long. No wonder your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -heart rebels. A fine kind of doctor I am, not -to have detected this long ago! If it had been -any patient but my wife, I should have been -quick to discover it. But it’s partly your -own fault, Elizabeth; you had no business to -be so uncomplaining about yourself. Even -that excuse, though, doesn’t keep me from -realizing how brutally thoughtless I have -been.”</p> - -<p>The mother-mind went back to the forlorn -little group on the porch. “Poor children,” -she sighed; “I don’t know how they are going -to get along; if they only had some one to -rely upon for their three meals a day! But -Ellen is woefully inefficient, and she has to -be handled with sugar-tongs, besides. The -spring sewing isn’t finished yet; the porch -ought to be screened; David—poor little -pale face—ought to be sent away before his -hay fever begins; and the fruit-canning season -is just at hand.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <i>we’ll</i> get along,” assured the doctor, -in the old, illogical way that means nothing, -and yet is so comforting to a woman; “Barbara’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -young and strong, and full of energy. -She’ll put her hand to the helm, if need be.”</p> - -<p>“But this is her vacation, and I want her -to enjoy it. She’s worked hard at her books -for four years. Besides, she is so full of her -writing now—”</p> - -<p>Dr. Grafton laughed,—a merry, contagious -laugh, that rivaled his medical skill in winning -his patients. “I thought as much,” he said. -“Getting admission to her room nowadays is -attended with all the formalities of the Masonic -ritual, and she goes about with ink on her -fingers and ink on her nose. I suppose she is -fired by the ambition of the Banbury Cross -lady in making ‘music wherever she goes.’ -Poor little Barbara; she’s taking herself so -very seriously, these days! She feels that she -must gush forth a stream of living water for -thirsty mankind, forgetting, dear little lass, -that she is not a spring yet, but only a rain-barrel. -Four years of college have filled her, -but she doesn’t realize that now is the time -to keep all the bung-holes shut. I suppose we -must all pass through that think-we-are-artists<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -disease, but Barbara seems to have an aggravated -case.”</p> - -<p>“She has been encouraged in it a good -deal.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know she has,—more’s the pity. -A prodigy now and then must be encouraging -to a college faculty, but it’s a bit hard on the -prodigy herself, and harder still on the prodigy’s -family. Intellectual lights ought to be -hidden under a ton, instead of a bushel, so it -wouldn’t be so easy to dig them out. I believe, -myself, that Barbara <i>has</i> a fine mind, and -unusual ability, but, dear heart, she’s only a -child! She has to live before she can write.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t dared tell her that yet,” said -her mother; “I don’t want even to seem to discourage -her. And you know how confident -Barbara is.”</p> - -<p>“I wish she were a bit less <i>self</i>-confident; -she’s bound to be disappointed, and I’m afraid -that she sets her hopes so high that the fall, -when it comes, will be a hard one. I wish, too, -that she wasn’t quite so serious about it all. -Her saving grace of humor seems to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -utterly deserted her at this trying period of -her existence.”</p> - -<p>“That’s a way that humor sometimes has,” -said Mrs. Grafton. “The very jolliest, drollest -woman I ever knew confided to me once that -her sense of humor had entirely deserted her, -at one time. She had been out sailing with -the man who afterward became her husband, -and during the course of the evening he had -done a little love-making. ‘He called me -Sweetie,’ she said to me. ‘Think of it! Sweetie! -Why, it’s as bad as Pettie, or Lambie!’ And -the worst of it was that it didn’t even seem -funny to me until after I thought it over at -home. ‘When love comes in the door, humor -flies out of the window,’ she said; and I suppose -it may be the same way with genius.”</p> - -<p>“If Barbara’s genius was armed with a -broom instead of a pen, it would be better for -her,” said her father. “And that is why I am -glad, for her sake as well as yours, that you are -going away. The girl isn’t all dreamer; she -has a practical compartment in that brain of -hers, and your absence will give her a chance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -to open the doors and windows of it, and -sweep the cobwebs out. Oh, I’m not worried -about <i>Barbara</i>,—she’ll rise to occasions. -And <i>we’ll</i> get along beautifully. If <i>you’ll</i> -only come back to us well and strong—”</p> - -<p>Maud S. made an unnecessary clatter over -the macadam road, in order not to hear the -rest of the sentence. The anxious note in her -master’s voice swallowed up the last trace of -her resentment.</p> - -<p>In the meantime the little group on the -Grafton porch had turned back into the house. -Jack had taken his fishing-tackle, and gone -off down the dusty road without a word. -David, with a plaintive expression on his -thin little face, had turned to his beloved -“Greek Heroes” for comfort. The Kid’s tears -had been dried by Barbara’s handkerchief -and two raisin cookies, and he had gone to -the sand-pile to play. Gassy, alone, was unaccounted -for. She had slipped away from -the porch when her mother was assisted into -the carriage, and was not in sight when the -others turned back into the house.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Picking up, first,” sighed Barbara, as she -came back into the big living-room, which -seemed unusually untidy and cheerless. “Then -the bed-making and the chamber-work, planning -the meals, and ordering the supplies. -I think I shall write out all the menus for -Ellen,—that will be the easiest way.” She -was putting the room in order, and her hands -flew with her thoughts. “I mean to do everything -systematically. I want to prove to -father that, college fits a girl for anything,—even -practical life, and if I keep the house in -order, discipline the children, and have some -excellent meals, I think he’ll be convinced. It -will take some time to get things started, but -I believe that after I have them systematized, -they will go smoothly, and I shall have plenty -of time left for my writing. Mother always -spent so much time on the unnecessary little -things; no wonder she went to pieces—poor -mother!”</p> - -<p>Something dimmed Barbara’s tender eyes, -but she steadied her lips and went on with -her plans:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> - -<p>“One thing I intend to change, and that is -having dinner at noon. It’s horribly unhygienic, -and old-fashioned, too. I’ll speak to -Ellen about it.”</p> - -<p>She pulled open the door of the hall-closet -to find a dust-cloth. A huddled pile of pink -gingham, with two long, black legs protruding, -lay prone upon the floor. The head was -hidden.</p> - -<p>Barbara put an arm about the place which -seemed to mark a waist in the gingham. -“What’s the matter, dear?” she asked tenderly.</p> - -<p>There was a long-drawn breath, and an -unmistakable snuffle. Then Gassy’s voice -answered coldly,—</p> - -<p>“Nuthin’.”</p> - -<p>“Well, don’t lie in here in the dark. Come -out with me, little sister.”</p> - -<p>Gassy came, slowly and reluctantly. She -rose from the floor, back foremost, keeping -her face assiduously turned away from her -sister.</p> - -<p>“I don’t like to see you cry—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Wasn’t crying,” stiffened Gassy, with a -sob.</p> - -<p>“I mean I don’t like to have you tucked -away in here, when I need you outside. I -want your help, little girl.”</p> - -<p>“What for?” demanded Gassy, suspiciously.</p> - -<p>“Oh, just to have you about, to talk to,” -said Barbara. “Come on out with me, and -help me plan the lunch.”</p> - -<p>“Lunch? Are we goin’ to have a picnic?” -asked Gassy, seating herself with her proud -little face turned toward the window.</p> - -<p>“No; but we’re going to have dinner at -night while mother’s away. And Cecilia, how -would you like to turn vegetarian?”</p> - -<p>“Just eat vegetables?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; it’s much more hygienic.”</p> - -<p>“No meat at all?”</p> - -<p>“No; we eat altogether too much flesh.”</p> - -<p>“It would be cheaper to board at a livery -stable,” said Gassy.</p> - -<p>“And healthier, too, I think. I’ve gone -without meat voluntarily for three whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -years, and I have been in perfect physical -condition. It’s a help mentally, too. And diet -isn’t restricted if you substitute eggs and nuts -and fruit for meat.”</p> - -<p>Nuts and fruit sounded good to Gassy. “All -right,” she said; “I’d like to try it. But we -can’t do it yet awhile; we’re working out a -bill at the butcher’s. His wife broke her collarbone -last year, and he’s paying the doctor’s -bill in meat. Besides, what will Ellen say?”</p> - -<p>Barbara wondered, herself. But she was too -proud to admit her foreboding.</p> - -<p>“Ellen draws her salary” (college settlement -lessons forbade her using the term -“wages”) “for following our wishes—”</p> - -<p>“Then she doesn’t earn it,” interrupted -Gassy.</p> - -<p>“And I’m sure she could find no objection -to any decision of ours as to the best kind -of food. Will you ask her to come here, Cecilia, -as soon as she gets her dishes washed? -I’ll have the menu ready for her by that -time.”</p> - -<p>Miss Parloa’s cook-book, which Barbara<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -took down from the shelf to assist her in her -task, was not a vegetarian; but memories of -her self-imposed college meals still lingered. -By the time Ellen’s lumbering step was heard -in the back hall the menu was ready, neatly -written upon the first page of a new little -blank-book.</p> - -<p>“I wuz down in the cellar,” stated Ellen, -“and I can’t leave my work to come every -time I’m wanted. Just holler the things down -to me. Me and your ma has an understanding -about that.”</p> - -<p>“If you come in here after the dish-washing -every morning, Ellen, you won’t have -to make an extra trip upstairs,” said Barbara, -in the approved college-settlement tone. -“I have no desire to demand unnecessary -service from you. I shall always have the -menu for the day ready for you at this hour. -This is for to-day: while mother is gone we -shall have dinner at night, and luncheon at -noon.”</p> - -<p>Ellen’s expression was not wholly encouraging, -as she took the little book. It read:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> - -<div class="center"> -Cantaloupes with ice.<br /> -————————<br /> -Eggs in tomato cases. Rice patés.<br /> -Thin bread and butter.<br /> -Parmesian balls on lettuce, with French dressing.<br /> -Olives. Wafers.<br /> -————————<br /> -Mint sherbet.<br /> -————————<br /> -Nuts.<br /> -</div> - -<p>“Cantyloops! What’s them?” demanded -Ellen.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 443px;"> -<img src="images/i-079.jpg" width="443" height="500" alt="Two women in kitchen" /> -<div class="caption">CANTYLOOPS! WHAT’S THEM?</div> -</div> - -<p>Barbara explained.</p> - -<p>“Oh, mush-melons! Why didn’t you say -so? Mush-melons won’t be ripe fer a month. -What’s that next thing?”</p> - -<p>“That’s a new way of serving eggs,” said -Barbara; “the recipe’s in the book. It’s simple, -and very pretty.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t serve ’em that way in this -town,” grumbled Ellen. “Tomatoes don’t -come in cases,—they come in baskets. And -as long as there’s a dish in the house where -I’m working, I won’t never set a tomato-basket -on the table. What’s rice payts!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The recipes are all in the book: I’ve -marked the pages,” said Barbara, with dignity. -“Of course, Ellen, if cantaloupes are -not in the market, we’ll have to substitute -something else. Or perhaps we could get -along without that course.”</p> - -<p>“We might have the ice, without the -melons,” suggested Gassy.</p> - -<p>Barbara glanced up suspiciously, but the -sharp little face was innocent.</p> - -<p>“That is all, then, Ellen. The recipes are -given in full, and you will have no trouble -in following them. I have ordered all the necessary -materials. The rice and the cheese -will be here in half an hour. Miss Cecilia -will show you where the mint-bed is in the -garden.”</p> - -<p>Ellen’s large freckled face took on an expression -of astonishment. “<i>Who</i> will?” she -asked.</p> - -<p>“Miss Cecilia,” responded Barbara.</p> - -<p>Ellen’s eyes followed Barbara’s glance. -“Oh, <i>Gassy!</i>” she said. “Didn’t know who -you meant, before. Say, Barbara Grafton, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -can’t never get up a meal like this, with no -meat, and on ironing-day, too. Your ma -never has sherbet but Sundays, and then Jack -turns the crank fer me. And nuts! Nuts won’t -be ripe till October.”</p> - -<p>“The nuts are already ordered,” said Barbara, -turning away. “That will do, Ellen. I’m -going upstairs now to do the chamber-work, -and after that I shall go to my writing. I -don’t want to be disturbed. If any one comes -to see me, say that I’m not at home.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll holler if I want you,” said Ellen, grimly.</p> - -<p>“No, don’t do that, because it breaks into -what I am doing. I shall be downstairs again -before luncheon-time, and you can tell me -then anything you need. Cecilia, I trust you -to see that I am not disturbed for two hours. -Don’t call me before twelve o’clock, no matter -what happens.”</p> - -<p>It was long past noon when the last sheet -of “The Spirit of the Eternal Ego” slipped -from Barbara’s hand, and the pen was -dropped. She glanced up at the little clock -near the vine-wreathed window. “Ten minutes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -of one!” she exclaimed; “I must have -missed the din—luncheon bell. But my -essay is done—hurray!”</p> - -<p>She hurried down the stairs. The living-room -was empty and the porch deserted. The -dining-room table had not been set. In the -kitchen the sink was piled high with dirty -dishes, dish-towels hung over every chair, -and a trail of grease-spots ran from pantry to -back door. The kitchen table was pulled up -before a window, and about it were seated -David, with some canned peaches, Gassy, with -a saucer full of ground cinnamon and sugar, -and Jack, with a massive sandwich of cold -beefsteak and thick bread. On the table were -a bowl of cold baked beans, a saucer of radishes, -a dish of pickles, and a bottle of pink -pop.</p> - -<p>Barbara shuddered. “Where’s Ellen?” she -asked.</p> - -<p>Jack looked up. “Ah, the authoress!” he -exclaimed. “I judge from your appearance -upon the scene of action that the fire of genius -has ceased to rage in unabated fury.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/i-085.jpg" width="500" height="414" alt="woman in doorway looking at three at table" /> -<div class="caption">WHY ARE YOU EATING IN HERE?</div> -</div> - -<p>“Why are you eating in here? Where’s -Ellen?” Barbara repeated.</p> - -<p>“In reply to your first question, to save -carrying; in reply to your second, I canna say. -I know not where she went; I only know -where she deserves to go.”</p> - -<p>“Has she gone away to stay?”</p> - -<p>“In the language of the housewife, she -has ‘left,’” said Jack. “I hurried home from -the river, bringing two thirty-pound trout to -grace the festal board, an hour ago. I found -that if there was to be any festal board, I -must supply both the festives and the boarding. -The gas-stove had ceased to burn; the -kitchen was still. Ellen had flown the coop. I -was for calling you, but Gassy, here, was obdurate. -She said that you had left orders with -your private secretary that, come what might, -you were not to be disturbed. Luckily, father -telegraphed that he was not coming home -until to-morrow. So, with the aid of my little -family circle, I prepared the repast which you -see before you. It was dead easy: each one -took out of the ice-box his favorite article of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -food, and for a wonder, no two happened to -want the same article. Fall to, yourself, fair -lady; there is still some cold boiled cabbage -in the refrigerator, and you have earned it -after your valiant fight as bread-winner for -the family this morning!”</p> - -<p>“Stop your nonsense, Jack. Didn’t Ellen -make any explanation of her going?”</p> - -<p>“Like the girl in the ballad, ‘She left a -note behind.’ It was written on the other side -of a wonderful menu, which probably was the -cause of her leaving. I don’t wonder it scared -her off. The note lies there on the table.”</p> - -<p>Barbara picked it up. The page had been -torn from the blank-book, and on it was -scrawled:—</p> - -<p>“i am leving youse. my folks have been -at me to come home, and i have desided not -to stay where i cant holler, also i cant get no -dinner like this, youse can pay my wages to -the boy that comes for my close.”</p> - -<p>Barbara sank hopelessly into a chair. There -seemed nothing further to be said upon the -subject of Ellen.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Where’s Charles?” she inquired.</p> - -<p>“Don’t <i>you</i> know?” said Jack. “I haven’t -seen him since I came home. We thought -you must have sent him on an errand, when -he didn’t appear at noon. The Kid always -turns up regularly at meal-time.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t seen him since mother left,” -replied Barbara. “Then I sent him to the -sand-pile. I haven’t an idea where he is.”</p> - -<p>“You told him he couldn’t go to a picnic,” -said David, dreamily.</p> - -<p>“Why, no, I didn’t.”</p> - -<p>“But you did, Barbara. He came and -knocked on your door while you were writing, -and told you he wanted to go. And you said -no. Then he hollered that he thought you -were”—David hesitated delicately over the -epithet—“a mean old thing; that he hadn’t -asked you to let him have a picnic before -since mother had left. And you told him to -run away,—that you were busy.”</p> - -<p>“Did I?” asked Barbara, trying to remember. -She had a faint recollection of such an -interruption, but she was never sure of what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -happened during the hours which she spent -in the throes of authorship. “How long ago -was it?”</p> - -<p>“’Bout eleven o’clock.”</p> - -<p>Barbara looked worried. “I can’t think -where he could have gone,” she said. “Have -you looked everywhere in the house?”</p> - -<p>“Everywhere we could think of,” responded -Jack. “Don’t worry, Barb; he’ll show up as -soon as he gets hungry. Disappearance is his -long suit.”</p> - -<p>“Does he often run away like this?”</p> - -<p>“Every time the spirit moves him. Not -even a letter-press could keep him down when -the wanderlust seizes him. Sometimes he is -gone for hours. Punishment doesn’t seem to -do him much good, either, though I must say -he never gets enough of it to make any impression. -If he were mine, I should test the -magic power of a willow switch.”</p> - -<p>“How do you find him?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he comes wandering in, like the prodigal -son, after he has fed upon husks for a -while. Maybe he has been unable to face the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -ordeal of a separation from Ellen, and has -gone with her.”</p> - -<p>“I wish he hadn’t gone while father and -mother are away. I feel, somehow, as though -it were my fault.”</p> - -<p>“Now stop worrying, Barbara; he’ll turn -up. My only fear is that you’ll receive him -with open arms when he arrives. Just you -plan to be a little severe on him, and we’ll -cure him of his habit before mother gets -home.”</p> - -<p>But in spite of Jack’s reassurance, Barbara -was troubled, and as she cleared away the -remains of the children’s feast, she caught -herself looking out of the window, and listening -for the click of the gate. At two o’clock, -when the last dish was put away, the Kid had -not returned; at three he was not in sight; -at four none of the neighbors had seen him; -at five she left the anxious seat at the front -window for the kitchen, with reluctance; and -at six it was a worried-looking Barbara who -greeted Jack’s return from baseball practice.</p> - -<p>“Hasn’t the little rascal turned up yet?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -asked the boy. “I think I’ll go out and take -a look at some of his favorite haunts. Now, -Barbara, if he comes while I’m away, don’t -you play prodigal with him!”</p> - -<p>The dinner was eaten, and cleared away. At -seven there was no Kid. At eight the other -children went to bed without him. At nine -o’clock Jack returned with no news. Even he -showed anxiety as Barbara met him at the -door with expectant face.</p> - -<p>“Nobody has seen a glimpse of him,” he -reported. “I’ve been the round of his intimates, -and to all of his pet resorts, and I’ve -scoured the town. I don’t know what else -to do.”</p> - -<p>There was a noise on the front porch. A -slow, halting step came up the stairs. Barbara -rushed toward the door.</p> - -<p>“Careful, now,” cautioned Jack. “That’s -the Kid, all right Don’t you greet him with -outstretched arms.”</p> - -<p>But the caution was not necessary. All of -the pent-up anxiety turned into wrath as Barbara -became sure of the step. Her heart hardened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -toward the small offender as she hastily -made her plans for his reception. In response -to the second knock at the door, she answered -the summons.</p> - -<p>“Who’s there?” she asked, without opening -the screen.</p> - -<p>“It’s me,” said a still, small voice.</p> - -<p>“What do you want?”</p> - -<p>“Want to come in.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you can’t come in. I don’t let -strange men into my house at this time of -night.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause on the front step as the -little lad wearily shifted his weight from one -foot to the other. Then he knocked again.</p> - -<p>“Want to get in.”</p> - -<p>Jack looked at Barbara, warningly. “I can’t -let you in,” she said; “I’m alone in the house; -my father and mother are away from home, -and I never let strangers in when I’m alone.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not strangers; I’m Charles.”</p> - -<p>“Charles wouldn’t be out at this time of -night,” remarked Barbara, impersonally.</p> - -<p>“I’m hungry,” said the Kid.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> - -<p>There was a wistfulness in the voice that -touched all the mother in the girl. “Well, -I never turn any tramp away hungry,” she -said; “I’ll give you some bread and milk, -but then you’ll have to go.”</p> - -<p>She unlocked the door, and surveyed her -small brother chillingly. The Kid had evidently -made a day of it. His cap was gone, -his shoestrings were untied, his face and hands -were streaked with dirt, and one shirt-waist -sleeve was torn away.</p> - -<p>“Goodness, how dirty!” she said. “There -is a place set at the table for our own little -boy, but he’s a clean child, and I can’t let you -have it as you are now. You’ll have to wash, -first. Go up those stairs, and you’ll find a -bathroom, the first room to the left. Wash -your hands and face, and then come down. -I’ll give you something to eat before you -go.”</p> - -<p>The Kid looked at Barbara steadily. Wonderment, -doubt, and understanding were expressed -in turn on his round face. He turned -without a word, his small fat legs climbed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -the stairway, and his dirty little figure disappeared -inside the bathroom door.</p> - -<p>His sister for the first time ventured a look -at Jack.</p> - -<p>“Bravo, Bernhardt!” he said.</p> - -<p>“I hated to do it,” said Barbara. “But I -know that he deserved it, and I feel sure that -it was the right thing. A psychological punishment -is so much better than a scolding or -a whipping. And Charles realized what it -meant; did you see his dear puzzled little face -take on contrition as he began to understand -my meaning? Mother says that he is a hard -child to manage, but I don’t see why. He responds -so readily to an appeal to his reason.”</p> - -<p>There was a sound in the upper hall. From -the bathroom door floated down the voice -of the Kid:—</p> - -<p>“Missus,” he called; “hey, Missus! There -ain’t no soap in here.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER V<br /> - -<small>THE “IDGIT”</small></h2> - - -<p class="drop-cap">THERE were two newspapers in Auburn. -The “Transcript” was one -of the oldest newspapers in the -middle West, and it well upheld the dignity -of its years. It was Republican as to politics, -conservative as to opinion, and inclined to -Methodism as to religion. It prided itself upon -the fact that in the fifty years of its existence -it had never changed its politics or its make-up, -and had never advanced its subscription -price or a new theory. It represented Auburn -in being slow, substantial, and self-satisfied.</p> - -<p>The “Ledger” was a new arrival in Auburn, -and had not yet proved its right to live. -It had a flippant tone that barred its entrance -to the best families, and Auburn had never -given it the official sanction that would insure -its permanent success. The difference in the -spirit of the two papers might be seen by a -glance down the personal columns of each.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -The “Transcript” was wont to state in dignified -terms that “Joseph Slater departed yesterday -for Jamestown.” The “Ledger” would -announce flippantly, “Joe Slater went to Jimtown -yesterday. What’s up, Joe?” This was -spicy, all Auburn agreed, but it savored of -vulgarity, and the old residents clung to their -old paper, in spite of the fact that the new -sheet was enterprising, clean, and up-to-date. -The “Ledger” catered to advertisements; the -“Transcript” paid special attention to the -obituary column. And the citizens of Auburn -subscribed to the “Transcript,” and borrowed -the “Ledger.”</p> - -<p>On the morning of the sixteenth of July the -“Transcript” contained two items more than -the “Ledger.” The first of these was headed:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p class="center">AUBURN AUTHORESS!</p> - -<p>Miss Birdine Bates of this city contributes some lines -upon the death of little Martha Johnson.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Dearest parents, from the Heavens</div> -<div class="verse">Comes this message unto thee,—</div> -<div class="verse">Do not weep for little Mattie,</div> -<div class="verse">Thou art not so glad as she.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">There were six Johnson children</div> -<div class="verse">Living on the fruits of heaven.</div> -<div class="verse">But the winged angels asked for</div> -<div class="verse">Still another, which made seven,—</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">And they held out beckoning fingers,</div> -<div class="verse">Saying, “Little Mattie, come!”</div> -<div class="verse">In a dainty old-rose casket</div> -<div class="verse">Little Mattie was took home.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">There is no hearth, however tended,</div> -<div class="verse">But one dead lamb is there;</div> -<div class="verse">And Martha will be greatly missed</div> -<div class="verse">For one who was so small and spare.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">But in the crystal, opal heavens,</div> -<div class="verse">Clustering near the golden gate,</div> -<div class="verse">Her and all the other Johnsons</div> -<div class="verse">For her family sit and wait.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Cheer up, mother, sister, brothers,</div> -<div class="verse">And the pastor of her church,</div> -<div class="verse">For though Martha’s joined the angels,</div> -<div class="verse">She leaves none in the lurch.</div> -</div> -</div> -</div></div> - -<p>The other item was not poetic. It was in -the advertisement column, and read:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Wanted</span>: immediately. A good cook. Must be neat, -willing, honest, and experienced. No laundry work. References -required. Only competent workers need apply. -Address X. Y. Z., this office.</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I saw your advertisement in the paper -this morning,” said Miss Bates, stopping at -the doctor’s gate in the early evening.</p> - -<p>Barbara sat on the porch step, her bright -head drooped upon the vine-covered railing. -It had been sweeping-day, and the unused -muscles of her back were protesting against -their unaccustomed exercise. Perhaps it was -weariness that sent the querulous note into her -voice.</p> - -<p>“How did you know it was mine?”</p> - -<p>“Why, I happened to meet David on the -way to the ‘Transcript’ office this morning. -I knew that Ellen left you several days ago, -so I put two and two together. Besides, my -dear, I would have known for other reasons. -The advertisement showed that it was written -by an inexperienced housekeeper.”</p> - -<p>“How?” asked Barbara.</p> - -<p>“Nobody ever advertises for help in Auburn. -Newspapers aren’t much good for -that. If you want a girl, all you have to do -is to spread the news among your acquaintances.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That isn’t hard, with <i>you</i> to help,” muttered -Gassy, from the step above.</p> - -<p>“What’s that, Cecilia? Oh, I thought you -spoke to me.—And they will be on the outlook -for you. It is much cheaper than advertising. -How are you getting along without -Ellen?”</p> - -<p>Barbara thought of the half-done potatoes, -the broken water-pitcher, and the soda-less -biscuits that had been incidents of the day. -But she was in no humor for a confession to -Miss Bates.</p> - -<p>“Pretty well,” she said.</p> - -<p>“That’s good. You know so little about -housework, Barbara, that I wouldn’t have -been surprised if you were missing her. Not -that you’re to blame for that. Lots of people -set a college education above home training, -nowadays. Just about noon to-day I smelled -something burning, and I said to myself, -‘There goes Barbara Grafton’s dinner.’ But -of course it might have come from some other -kitchen. The wind came straight this way, -though.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Barbara, wearily.</p> - -<p>“Is it true that you’ve turned vegetarian? -I was at the butcher’s this morning, and Jack -came in and got a steak. I knew that your -pa is away, but I thought that one steak -wouldn’t do for your family. I happened to -mention it to the butcher, and he said that -your meat orders were falling off lately. So -I just wondered if you had given up eating -meat.”</p> - -<p>A long, thin arm, extended from the step -above, thrust Barbara vigorously in the side. -In the dusk the action was hidden from the -visitor, but Barbara knew well its purport -She was being enjoined to tell nothing to -Miss Bates.</p> - -<p>“Our appetites for meat seem to be falling -off this hot weather,” she returned guardedly.</p> - -<p>“Of course it’s a lot cheaper to live that -way,” said the visitor. “Saves cooking, too. -And you won’t have time to do much cooking -if all these reports I hear of your starting -a benevolent society are true.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> - -<p>There was no response from Barbara.</p> - -<p>“If you’re thinking of going into club-work, -you’d better join our lodge,—the Ancient -Neighbors. Maybe you’d be elected to -office. Mrs. Beebe, the old Royal Ranger, -resigned three months ago, and Miss Homer, -the new one, ain’t giving satisfaction. She -don’t seem to be capable of learning the ritual. -She got the meeting open last night, and -forgot what came next, and had to send for -Mrs. Beebe to get it shut. If you have any -memory for rituals, Barbara, maybe I could -get you in for office.”</p> - -<p>Barbara murmured her thanks. “I haven’t -much time for club-work, though, now,” she -said.</p> - -<p>“I have,” said a small voice. Gassy’s fist, -inclosing an imaginary missile, shook in the -direction of the unconscious visitor.</p> - -<p>“I expect that your literary work takes up -most of your time.”</p> - -<p>Barbara caught her breath sharply. How -much had that dreadful woman heard?</p> - -<p>“Of course you may not <i>be</i> writing, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -I have had my suspicions about it, since I -met you with that fat envelope with the Century -Company’s stamp, a week ago. I knew -that you had done a bit of writing at school, -and I put two and two together, and said to -myself, ‘Barbara Grafton’s gone to writing.’ -I couldn’t help wondering if the ‘Century’ -had taken it, or sent it back. Of course, being -an author myself, I’m always interested in -budding genius. What is it, Barbara, poetry -or fiction?”</p> - -<p>Out of the shadow of the porch vines came -Gassy’s sharp little voice. “Jack cut <i>your</i> -poetry out of the paper this morning, Miss -Bates,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Did he?” said Miss Bates, delightedly. -“I didn’t know Jack was so appreciative as -that. I’m afraid the poetry wasn’t as good -as some I have written. But I felt it—every -word of it—when I wrote it. And I suppose -Jack liked its tone of sincerity. That is my -highest ambition: not to win fame or money, -but to be cut out and carried in the vest-pocket.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He said,” giggled Gassy, from behind the -vines, “that he couldn’t have the sanctity of -the home invaded,”—the imitation of Jack’s -inflection was perfect,—“an’ that he wouldn’t -suffer our minds,—David’s and mine, he -meant,—to be c’rrupted, so he cut it out; -but I think he sent it to mother. We always -save all the funny things for her, to -cheer her up, now she’s sick.”</p> - -<p>The darkness hid the terrible expression -upon Miss Bates’s face, but it did not conceal -the frigidity of her tones as she took her -elbows from the doctor’s gate. “Your sister’s -got a job in giving you some of her college -culture, Gassy Grafton,” she said to the small -fold of light gingham which showed alongside -the vine-clad porch post. She looked back -over her shoulder to fire her last volley of -ammunition.</p> - -<p>“I hope it will <i>amuse</i> your mother,” she -said. “If you’d all been a little less selfish -about using her like a hack-horse when she -was at home, you wouldn’t have to be sending -jokes to her at a sanitarium, now.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What on earth did you tell her that for?” -asked Barbara, as Miss Bates swept around -the corner.</p> - -<p>“She deserved it. She needn’t pick on -you!”</p> - -<p>“But you can’t give people all they deserve, -in this world, little sister.”</p> - -<p>“No, not always,” said Gassy. “But I -always do when I can.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Miss Bates’s opinion about the value of -newspaper advertising seemed to be well -founded. A week passed without an applicant -for the vacant position in the Grafton -kitchen. Barbara grew tired and cross and -discouraged. The weather turned hot, and -the sunny kitchen on the east side of the -house seemed to harbor all the humidity of -the day. The nurse at the sanitarium wrote -that Mrs. Grafton was not improving as -rapidly as she could wish. David’s hay fever -began, and he went wheezing around the -house in a state of discomfort that wrung -Barbara’s sympathetic heart. The writing and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -the precious study-hour had to be abandoned. -So it was with a feeling of relief that the over-worked -girl saw a strange woman come -through the office gate one morning. The -newcomer was not at all prepossessing. Hair, -eyes, and skin were of the uncertain whity-yellow -of a peeled banana. Her shirt-waist -bloused in the back as well as the front, and -she had yet to learn the æsthetic value of -sufficient petticoats. She stared uncertainly -at Barbara as the latter opened the side door.</p> - -<p>“Did you wish to see any one?” asked -Barbara, after a painful silence.</p> - -<p>“Yes, mam,” said the girl.</p> - -<p>“Whom do you want?”</p> - -<p>There was another long pause, during which -the girl shifted her weight from one foot to -the other. Then she said, “The lady, mam.”</p> - -<p>“Did you come to inquire about a position?”</p> - -<p>The young woman evidently concentrated -her energy upon the question. Her mind -moved so slowly and jerkily that Barbara, -watching the process, was reminded of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -working of an ouija board. She would not -have been surprised to hear the girl squeak. -But the query was beyond the newcomer. It -was plain that vernacular must be tried.</p> - -<p>“Do you want a place?”</p> - -<p>The girl brightened a shade. “Yes, mam.”</p> - -<p>“Can you cook?”</p> - -<p>“No, mam.”</p> - -<p>“Wait upon the table?”</p> - -<p>“No, mam.”</p> - -<p>“Sweep and dust?”</p> - -<p>“No, mam.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t you bake at all?”</p> - -<p>“No, mam.”</p> - -<p>“Have you never cooked?”</p> - -<p>“No, mam.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what can you do?”</p> - -<p>The whity-yellow girl brightened again. -It was evident that this time she was to vary -her reply.</p> - -<p>“I kin milk, mam.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Two hours later, Jack surveyed the new acquisition -through the porch window. “I see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -we have an Angel of the House,” he said to -Barbara, who had stretched her weary length -in the hammock. “How came she here?”</p> - -<p>“She just blew in.”</p> - -<p>“In answer to your advertisement?”</p> - -<p>“No, she had never seen it.”</p> - -<p>Jack took another critical look through the -window. “She doesn’t give the impression -of being overweighted with intelligence. And -she’s certainly not beautiful. Has her color -run in the wash, or was she always of that -gentle hue? But appearances must be deceitful; -she’s a paragon of cleverness, if she fills -the bill for you. I suppose she is a wonderful -cook?”</p> - -<p>Barbara shook her head.</p> - -<p>“Neat?”</p> - -<p>“She doesn’t look so.”</p> - -<p>“Well, willing?”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t discovered yet.”</p> - -<p>“Honest, anyway?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know anything about her morals.”</p> - -<p>Jack assumed a momentary air of distress. -Then he drew a long sigh of relief as he remarked,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -“Well, I <i>know</i> she’s experienced. -You said no others need apply!”</p> - -<p>The hammock’s motion stopped, and Barbara -lay ominously silent for a minute. Then -the pent-up feeling of the past week burst -forth in her reply:—</p> - -<p>“John Grafton, I don’t know one earthly -thing about that girl! She’s done farm-work -all her life. She doesn’t know how to cook. -She never heard of rice or celery. She never -has seen a refrigerator! She’s afraid of the gas-stove. -She wouldn’t know what I meant if -I asked her about references. She can’t do -anything but milk. She isn’t one single thing -that I advertised for, or hoped for, or wanted! -But maybe she can learn. And I’m so tired, -and hot, and discouraged, and I’ve spoiled so -many things!”</p> - -<p>And for once in his life Jack understood, -and forbore.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“I’ve seen a good many kinds of imbecility -in my life,” said Jack, a week later. “But -never one to equal hers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">She is willing, she is active,</div> -<div class="verse">She is sober, she is kind,</div> -<div class="verse">But she <i>never</i> looks attractive,</div> -<div class="verse">And she <i>hasn’t</i> any mind.</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="unindent">She was born stupid, achieved stupidness, -and had stupidity thrust upon her,—all three. -I found her pouring water on the gas-stove -to put out the burner, the other day. She’ll -have us all gas-fixiated, if we don’t watch -out.”</p> - -<p>“That was several days ago,” laughed -Barbara. “She’s developed a stage beyond -that, now. In fact, she’s devoted to the gas-stove. -I can hardly prevail upon her to turn -it off at all. She announced to me yesterday -that it was the handiest thing she ever saw,—that -you ‘only had to light it once a day, and -fire all the time.’ Think what our gas-bill is -likely to be under her tender ministrations!”</p> - -<p>“Her awe of it is evidently great,” said -Jack. “She asked Gassy this morning if she -was named after the stove. ‘I don’t wonder -they named you that,’ she said; ‘I ain’t -never seen nothing like it. W’y, if I wuz to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -go home and tell ’em I turned on a spit, -and there wuz the fire, they’d say I wuz a -liar!’”</p> - -<p>“She’s an idgit!” ejaculated Gassy; “a -born idgit!”</p> - -<p>Gassy’s epithet clung. It was used by the -family with bated breath and apprehensive -glance, but still it was used. No other title -seemed appropriate after that was once -heard, and her Christian name sank into oblivion -from disuse. It was never employed except -in her presence. And the Idgit certainly -earned her title. She put onions in the rice-pudding; -she melted the base off of the silver -teapot by setting it on the stove; she cut up -potatoes peeling and all, for creamed potatoes, -explaining that “some liked ’em skinned, -an’ some didn’t”; she left the receiver of the -telephone hanging by its cord for hours, until -the doctor’s patients were desperate, and so -many complaints poured in at the central -office that a man was sent to repair damages; -she turned the hose on the walls and floor of -the kitchen to facilitate scrubbing, until the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -whole room was deluged, and overflowed like -the Johnstown flood; she answered the doorbell -by calling through the dining-room and -the front hall that “no one’s to home”; she -put the bread sponge in the oven of the range, -and then built a fire above it to “raise it -quick” (the oven was full of burned paste -before Barbara discovered the time-saving -device); she ladled the gold-fish out of the -aquarium to feed them, and left the four red, -dead little corpses on the library mantel. -“They’re too pretty to sling out,” she said.</p> - -<p>Barbara wavered between exasperation and -amusement during the twenty-four hours of -the day. “I don’t know what I’m going to do -with her,” she confided to her father one evening. -“I thought that intelligence was a part -of the make-up of every human being; but -Addie either has no place for it in her identity, -or else the place that is there is empty. I -gave her a recipe yesterday,—how she ever -learned to read is beyond my comprehension,—that -called for ‘six eggs beaten separately.’ -Addie emptied one from its shell, beat it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -emptied another, beat that, and followed the -same proceeding with the whole six.”</p> - -<p>“I can tell something funnier than that,” -said Dr. Grafton. “I telephoned over here -from the livery stable this afternoon, and -asked Addie to ‘hold the phone’ until I -could read a message to her. Central rang -off before I could read it, and then I couldn’t -get connections again. So I came over home -to give it to her, twenty minutes later, and -found her obediently still holding the receiver.”</p> - -<p>“The last teller of tales has the best chance,” -chuckled Jack. “What message did you give -the Idgit to give Miss Bates when she called -here yesterday?”</p> - -<p>Barbara considered. “That I was in, but -that I was engaged, I think,” she said finally.</p> - -<p>“She gave it, all right! She told Miss -Bates that you <i>were</i> at home, but that you -were going to be married. Thanks to Miss -Bates’s activity and interest, the report is -widely circulated throughout Auburn.”</p> - -<p>Barbara groaned.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Don’t worry over it,” said her father. -“The fact that Miss Bates is standing sponsor -for the story will destroy its danger.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m not worrying about that,” responded -Barbara. “What is the report of my -betrothal to an unknown, and therefore harmless, -man, as compared with the problem of -the Idgit? I don’t <i>want</i> her, I can’t <i>keep</i> her, -and yet how am I to get rid of her?”</p> - -<p>“Maybe she’ll leave; she told me her family -wanted her back,” said Gassy, hopefully.</p> - -<p>“I can’t see what for,” said Barbara, “unless -it is to kill chickens. That is the one thing -she has done without blunder or assistance, -since she stepped over our threshold. And -unless Addie’s family are given over wholly -to a diet of fowl, I fail to see how she could -be of any use to them.”</p> - -<p>But relief from the Idgit came sooner than -was expected. In the middle of an afternoon -of canning raspberries, Mrs. Willowby came -to inquire about Mrs. Grafton’s health. Barbara -slipped off her berry-stained apron, -sighed over the fruit-stained nails that no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -amount of manicuring would whiten, and -dabbed some powder on her shiny face. -Then she went into the living-room to greet -her guest.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Willowby was one of the few residents -who reconciled Barbara to Auburn. Refinement -was her birthright, and in her gentle -voice, simple manner, and fine breeding were -combined all the aristocracy of old Auburn, -and none of its pettiness; all the progress of -new Auburn, and none of its crudeness. The -miseries of kitchen-work were forgotten, as -the two dropped into the dear familiar talk of -the college world, that partook of neither servants -nor weather, recipes nor house-cleaning.</p> - -<p>“It’s a hundred years since I have talked -Matthew Arnold with any one,” sighed Barbara. -“No, perhaps two months would be -nearer the truth. But it <i>seems</i> like a hundred -years.”</p> - -<p>“Why <i>don’t</i> you?” asked Mrs. Willowby.</p> - -<p>“Just now, I haven’t time,” said Barbara; -“but if I had all the time in the world, there -wouldn’t be any one to talk to.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why not your father and mother?”</p> - -<p>“Father and mother! Why, father doesn’t -know poetry,—except Riley and Bret Harte; -and mother doesn’t care for it.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Willowby’s sweet brown eyes twinkled. -“You’re joking with me, Barbara.”</p> - -<p>“No, I’m in earnest.”</p> - -<p>“You dear little girl! Are you such a -stranger to your own home people? I don’t believe -that Matthew Arnold ever wrote anything -that your mother doesn’t know. Where she -gets time, with all her multitudinous duties, to -love Shelley, and live Browning, and keep -abreast of Stephen Phillips and Yeats, I don’t -see; but she does it, somehow. She is one of -the few true poetry-lovers I know. As for your -father, I have heard him quote Riley and -Harte to you children, because, I always supposed, -he thought you could understand -them. But he himself doesn’t stop there. He -isn’t so widely read as your mother, but the -old poets he has made his own. He knows his -yellow Shakespeare from cover to cover. How -have you ever lived in the same house with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -them and yet been such a stranger? Your -father and mother, dear, are the cultivated -people of Auburn.”</p> - -<p>Surprise was written strongly on every feature -of Barbara’s face.</p> - -<p>“That’s the trouble with college life. You -young people never get the opportunity to -know your own families, nowadays. At the -time when you are just beginning to be old -enough to appreciate your parents, you are -sent away. Then you go to work, or marry, -and leave home without knowing the real -wealth that often lies at your own doors. Did -you ever read Emerson’s ‘Days’?”</p> - -<p>Barbara shook her head. Mrs. Willowby -turned to the open book-shelves, and took -down a shabby green volume. “It has your -mother’s own marks,” she said, as she turned -to the page, where a lead pencil had traced a -delicate line about the words,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,</div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And marching single in an endless file,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To each they offer gifts after his will,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Bread, kingdom, stars, and sky that holds them all</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">I, in my pleachèd garden, watched the pomp,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Forgot my morning wishes, hastily</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Turned and departed silent. I, too late,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.”</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>There was a moment’s pause after the -stately lines were finished.</p> - -<p>“I understand,” said Barbara, finding her -voice. “But I never knew,—before. It <i>is</i> -true, Mrs. Willowby, about losing some things -by college life. I’m beginning to think that -there are lots of things to be learned at home.”</p> - -<p>The gentle brown eyes smiled at the new -tone of humility. “My dear little girl,” began -Mrs. Willowby, “if you have discovered that, -you have learned the very thing for which -you were sent to college. The most important -lessons in the word are not learned from textbooks, -and all—Goodness, Barbara, what -on earth was that?”</p> - -<p>Somewhere from the back regions of the -house had come the sound of a mighty explosion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -It was followed by the sound of breaking -glass, and a shrill shriek.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 389px;"> -<img src="images/i-119.jpg" width="389" height="500" alt="two women in doorway looking at woman on kitchen floor" /> -<div class="caption">IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR SAT THE IDGIT</div> -</div> - -<p>“The Idgit!” breathed Barbara. The Emerson -slid to the floor, and the hostess and -guest rushed to the kitchen.</p> - -<p>In the middle of the floor sat the Idgit, a -whity-yellow island in a sea of raspberry -juice and broken glass. From the oven of -the gas-stove came a volume of flame and -smoke. The stove-lids lay on the floor, and the -kitchen was full of flying flecks of soot. Barbara -rushed to the stove, and turned off the -burners, one by one. Then she lifted the huddled -heap from the floor.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter, Addie?” she asked.</p> - -<p>The ouija board in the Idgit’s brain was -unusually stubborn and unmanageable. It -was fully three minutes before anything intelligible -came from her lips. Then the inarticulate -sounds resolved themselves into the -words, “Oh, gol, mam!”</p> - -<p>“What happened?”</p> - -<p>“I dunno, mam.”</p> - -<p>“What did you do to the stove?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I dunno, mam.”</p> - -<p>“Did you light it? How did the burners -come to be turned on?”</p> - -<p>“I was cleaning the stove, mam. I must ’a’ -turned ’em on when I washed the knobs.”</p> - -<p>“Then did you light it?”</p> - -<p>“No, mam. I left it to carry the fruit down -cellar; an’ I lit a match to see by.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Barbara.</p> - -<p>For the first and last time in her career the -Idgit uttered a voluntary sentence. “I’m -going to quit to-night. Gol! that gas-stove!”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER VI<br /> - -<small>THE DUCHESS</small></h2> - - -<p class="drop-cap">IT was eleven o’clock in the morning, and -Barbara threw herself into the hammock -on the porch, every nerve in her body -tingling with fatigue. In a chair near by sat -the Kid, driving imaginary horses along Main -Street, and politely removing his hat to every -one he met on the way. He inquired whether -Barbara desired to ride on the front seat with -him, but she was so tired that she scarcely -answered the little boy, and wearily closed -her eyes to avoid seeing David’s book and -Jack’s racket lying on the piazza floor. She -felt that to rise from the hammock and pick -up that racket was a task requiring the -strength and energy of a Titan.</p> - -<p>She was gradually succumbing to the influence -of the swaying hammock, and the tension -of her nerves was relaxing, so that the sudden -stampede of the horses on the porch was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -dimly associated in her mind with thunder, -when she felt a sudden touch on her shoulder, -and opened her eyes to see the Kid standing -near.</p> - -<p>“There’s a lady at the gate, Barb’ra,” he -said.</p> - -<p>Barbara peered over the edge of the hammock. -Coming up the path, with a stately -stride and a majestic swing that allowed her -skirts to sweep first one edge of the path and -then the other, advanced a Being whose presence -immediately inspired Barbara with a -sense of approaching royalty. It was not that -the visitor was fashionably attired, for her -faded black garments and dejected-looking -bonnet, even in their palmiest days, could not -have been called stylish. Yet, resting in serenity -upon the thin, tall form of their wearer, -they seemed calmly self-satisfied and distinguished. -As the visitor approached, she shed -kindly critical and affable glances about her, -and rewarded Barbara’s inquiring gaze with -a cheerful smile.</p> - -<p>“You’re Barbara Grafton, I s’pose,” she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -said in a brisk voice. “I’m Mrs. ’Arris, an’ -I’ve come to ’elp you hout.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> -<img src="images/i-125.jpg" width="600" height="477" alt="Woman in hammock looking at older woman standing" /> -<div class="caption">I’M MRS. ’ARRIS, AN’ I’VE COME TO ’ELP YOU HOUT</div> -</div> - -<p>Barbara sat up quickly. “Oh!” she said. -“Do you wish a position as cook here?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harris’s eyes rested upon her with -amiable condescension. “I come to ’elp you -hout,” she repeated. “I’m Mrs. Brown’s widder -sister, and when she told me as ’ow you -was left alone and the ’ouse agoin’ to rack -and ruin—”</p> - -<p>Barbara suddenly stiffened in the hammock.</p> - -<p>“Why, she says to me, she says, ‘’Ilda, I’m -awful fond of Dr. Grafton, an’ I can’t let ’im -starve without proper care while ’is wife’s gone. -Now you jest put on your things an’ go up -there an’ ’elp hout.’ So I come,” concluded -Mrs. Harris, composedly; and she sat down.</p> - -<p>The Kid drew nearer, and stared at her -from under his mass of tawny hair. “You -goin’ to stay here?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“Yes, of course,” answered Mrs. Harris, -with a sweeping glance at the little fellow, -that took in the holes in the knees of his stockings.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then please get out o’ that chair,” said -the Kid, promptly. “It’s my black Arabian -horse.”</p> - -<p>“Charles!” cried Barbara.</p> - -<p>“You take another chair, or play somewheres -else,” said Mrs. Harris, calmly. “Runnin’ -wild sence ’is mother left, I s’pose,” she -remarked, turning to Barbara.</p> - -<p>Barbara choked back her astonished resentment -at this speech, and returned to the subject -at hand.</p> - -<p>“It may be that you will not suit,” she said -coldly, rising. “Can you cook well, and do -you understand gas-ranges?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harris laughed complacently, eyeing -the slender girl before her with amused condescension. -“I ’ave cooked for the finest -families o’ Hengland,” she announced. “I’ll -settle with your father about wages. Now you -jest show me the kitchen, an’ then I’ll let you -go, as I see this porch ain’t tidy, an’ that -there child needs to be attended to, an’ probably -the rest o’ the ’ouse wants cleanin’.”</p> - -<p>The Kid slunk off the porch as the words<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -“needs to be attended to” pierced his small -cranium. He thought it meant chastisement -for his last speech, poor child, and saw, with -joy, Barbara following this new and surprising -person into the house. In Barbara’s mind a -sense of resentment and defeat was conflicting -with a feeling of relief at the prospect of help. -She rejoiced to herself as they passed through -the hall, for she had just swept it with her -own hands.</p> - -<p>“Dreadful dusty mopboards,” said Mrs. -Harris, nonchalantly. Barbara’s spirits sank.</p> - -<p>As they entered the kitchen, she suddenly -remembered that she had left some dishes -piled in the sink, to be washed with the -dinner things. In her absence, moreover, -some hungry boy had been rummaging in -the cake-box, and had left crumbs and morsels -of food scattered over the table. Mrs. Harris -paused on the threshold, and untied her bonnet, -while her roving black eyes quickly took -in the scene before her. Clean enough it had -seemed to Barbara an hour before, but now -many things, hitherto unnoticed, suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -sprang into prominence. She saw that the -white sash-curtain at the window was disreputably -dirty; that the stove was actually rusty -on top; that cobwebs lurked in the corners; -and she remembered, with a pang, that the ice-box -had not been cleaned since her mother left.</p> - -<p>“My!” ejaculated Mrs. Harris. “Well, I’ll -get dinner first, then I’ll tackle this lookin’ -room. You set the table, Barbara,—ain’t that -your name?—an’ I’ll do the cookin’. What -meat ’ave you ordered?”</p> - -<p>“None,” answered Barbara; “I don’t approve -of eating meat, and have not allowed -the children to have any for some time. Father -has been taking his dinners down-town -lately.”</p> - -<p>“Land alive!” ejaculated Mrs. Harris, turning -shocked eyes upon Barbara. “The poor -children! An’ your paw,—druv from ’is -’ome! Well! You jest go to the telephone, -an’ horder a good piece of steak before it’s -too late.”</p> - -<p>“I prefer not to have meat,” said Barbara, -stiffly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Harris’s face settled into stubborn -lines. “I’ve never ’eard of anything so foolish,” -she declared. “Growin’ children need -meat, an’ you run right along an’ horder that -steak.”</p> - -<p>It was at this point that Barbara’s sense of -diplomacy came to her aid. This woman had -indeed forced herself into the kitchen, but she -was very welcome, nevertheless. She must not -prejudice her at the outset, but must gradually -accustom Mrs. Harris to her views. Barbara -turned away to the telephone. Immediately -Mrs. Harris’s manner changed, and she became -affable again as she bustled capably -about the kitchen, and assigned small jobs to -her young mistress.</p> - -<p>“Hello!” cried Jack, joyfully, as he took -his seat in his father’s place, and viewed the -well-cooked steak. “Is the embargo off? -Is this a carving-knife that I see before -me? Why, Barbara! Didst do this thyself, -lass?”</p> - -<p>“Jack,” said Barbara, nervously, “I have -engaged a new maid and—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> - -<p>A decided voice from the kitchen interrupted -her.</p> - -<p>“Barbara, you come an’ git the bread. I’m -busy.”</p> - -<p>The children seated around the table stared -at one another.</p> - -<p>“Whew!” whispered Jack to Gassy; “now, -by my halidame, there goes Barbara. Is Petruchio -in the kitchen?”</p> - -<p>Barbara reëntered with scarlet cheeks. -There was something in her manner which -warned even the Kid not to comment The -meal began in absolute silence, another cause -of which may have been the perfectly cooked -dinner, which descended like manna into the -loyal but empty stomachs of the Grafton offspring. -The Kid ate his steak voraciously, -and eagerly extended his plate for more.</p> - -<p>“See ’ow ’e’s ben pinin’,” remarked a voice -from the open doorway.</p> - -<p>The children started, and looking up, for -the first time saw the dignified figure of Mrs. -Harris surveying them with a condescendingly -satisfied gaze. “These are all the children, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -s’pose, Barbara. Well, now, there’s a nice -rice puddin’ for dessert, an’ then you an’ that -little girl can ’elp me clear away to-day, ’cause -there’s so much to do to clean up this ’ouse.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want any pudding,” declared Jack, -in haste, longing to get away to some nook -where he could laugh unseen.</p> - -<p>“Set right where you are,” said Mrs. Harris, -calmly. “You don’t get no more to eat -till supper, so you’d better fill up now.”</p> - -<p>Jack gasped and obeyed.</p> - -<p>Even when dinner was over, and the dishes -washed with the surprised help of a subdued -Gassy, there was no diminution of Mrs. Harris’s -energy. She cleaned the kitchen thoroughly; -she scrubbed the bathroom; she -charged upon the children’s rooms, and the -dust and dirt retreated in confusion before -her vigorous onslaught. She accompanied the -performances with a running fire of ejaculatory -comment. Barbara, with set lips, kept -just behind her, and followed directions with -an injured determination to die in her tracks -before giving up.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am glad to have such capable help,” -she said, observing Jack in the next room.</p> - -<p>“’Eh?” returned Mrs. Harris, looking up -from her dustpan. “Wish I could say the -same! But never mind, you’ll learn in -time, I dare say. O’ course you’ve ben in -school an’ can’t be expected to know much -yet.”</p> - -<p>Barbara heard a chuckle and subdued applause -from the next room.</p> - -<p>“Who’s that?” inquired Mrs. Harris, abruptly. -“Oh, it’s your brother. I was lookin’ -for ’im. What’s ’is name? Jack? Well, Jack, -you jest take these rugs out to the back yard -an’ beat ’em a little. They need it.”</p> - -<p>Jack advanced, hesitating. “I don’t know -how to beat rugs,” he muttered.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll show you,” said Mrs. Harris, -serenely. “Lend a hand with this big one.”</p> - -<p>Barbara surveyed with joy the sullen droop -of Jack’s back, as he followed his instructor -down the hall.</p> - -<p>“Let well enough alone,” she called impersonally.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Don’t you do it!” exclaimed Mrs. Harris. -“You beat ’em thorough.”</p> - -<p>“I think we won’t do any more,” declared -Barbara to Mrs. Harris, as the clock struck -four. “We have been at this all the afternoon, -and I’ll let you leave Jack’s room until to-morrow. -We have done enough for to-day.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harris put her hands on her hips and -surveyed Barbara quizzically. “Well, you -ain’t used to work, be you?” she said. “Tired, -I s’pose.”</p> - -<p>Barbara’s face flushed. She was so weary -that she lost the dignity to which she had -been clinging desperately all day.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I am tired!” she burst out. “I worked -all the morning before you came. Besides, -it’s absurd to fly around like this, trying to -do everything at once. My time is too valuable -to waste so much of it upon such things -as these.”</p> - -<p>A queer expression settled upon the features -of Mrs. Harris. She looked amused, indulgent, -and vastly superior.</p> - -<p>“Your time too valuable?” she said slowly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -and calmly; “your time too valuable? Well, -young lady, I don’t know jest what things -you’ve got to do besides taking care of your -brothers and your sister, but I reckon there -ain’t nothing better.”</p> - -<p>Barbara drew a long breath of anger and -walked away.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“It wouldn’t be so bad,” she said ruefully -to her father, a few days later, “if only she -didn’t assume all the powers and prerogatives -of a sovereign. But she has actually reduced -the children to the most subdued state you -can imagine. Jack never ravages the pantry -now, since Mrs. Harris caught him that first -afternoon, and asked him kindly if he would -mind leaving enough for the rest of us. Even -Gassy never answers her saucily, and David -goes about the house like a crushed piece of -nothing. And yet she isn’t a bit cross or -unkind. It’s something in her manner that -admits of no disputation. Jack has named her -the Duchess, and it just suits her.”</p> - -<p>The Doctor laughed. “You mustn’t allow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -yourself to be so easily impressed, my dear,” -he said. “I notice, however, that she takes a -great deal of responsibility off your hands, -and that ought to reconcile you to any drawbacks. -I have just sent word to Mrs. Harris -to have dinner at one instead of twelve, as -I shall be busy at the office, and can’t get -away so soon.”</p> - -<p>The words were scarcely out of his mouth -when they saw David returning down the -hall in haste, followed by a tall figure advancing -with majestic tread. The doctor -coughed uneasily.</p> - -<p>“Dr. Grafton!” proclaimed the Duchess; -“David says as ’ow you wants the dinner put -off till one!”</p> - -<p>There was an accent of such injury in her -voice that the Doctor found himself saying -hastily:—</p> - -<p>“Why, yes, Mrs. Harris, I did send that -message, but—”</p> - -<p>“I thought it best to tell you as ’ow it can’t -be done,” replied the Duchess, with finality, -turning to depart.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> - -<p>Dr. Grafton caught the smile on Barbara’s -face.</p> - -<p>“What’s that?” he said peremptorily; -“can’t be done? Why not?”</p> - -<p>The Duchess turned back with surprise -written in her large, serene countenance. -“Why not? Why not?” she repeated. “Why, -because it ain’t convenient to change, sir.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Grafton found himself following her -down the hall. “I’m going to be very busy -and can’t get away,” he said apologetically. -“Perhaps half-past twelve—”</p> - -<p>The Duchess turned again, and contemplated -him calmly. “Any reason why the rest -must wait for you?” she inquired with uplifted -eyebrows.</p> - -<p>“Why, no,” said the Doctor.</p> - -<p>“Well, then,” answered the Duchess, -“come any time you want. You’ll find your -dinner kep’ nice an’ warm on a plate in the -oven.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Grafton meekly returned to the living-room, -to find his daughter considerately -averting her face from him. His hearty laugh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -brought her back to his side. He threw himself -on the couch by the window.</p> - -<p>“Well, I give up!” he announced. “Was -there ever such a martinet!”</p> - -<p>Barbara laughed with him, but her face -quickly sobered. “I really don’t think I shall -stand it much longer,” she said. “She has -absolutely no regard for my ideas, and pays -no attention to any orders or requests. She -even tells me what she ‘desires’ for meals.”</p> - -<p>“They are very good meals,” put in the -Doctor, hastily. His mind reviewed the gastronomic -comforts of the last few days, and -the uncertainty and scantiness of those meals -before the arrival of the Duchess.</p> - -<p>“Don’t give Mrs. Harris up, my dear,” -he said, as he rose to depart. “You are -forgetting the state of things before she -came, just as it is hard to remember the tooth-ache -when it has finally succumbed to treatment.”</p> - -<p>A drawling voice from the library broke the -ensuing silence.</p> - -<p>“‘It feels so nice when it stops aching,’”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -quoted Jack. “Remember those green-apple -pies, Miss Babbie?”</p> - -<p>“Remember those rugs that you beat so -happily?” retorted Barbara.</p> - -<p>“Well, I am going to try to accustom the -Duchess gradually to those regulations which -are necessary; and if she won’t fall into line, -she can—”</p> - -<p>“Fall out!” said Jack, promptly. “Only in -that case, my dear, you will not find the poet -truthful in those charming lines,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">The falling out of faithful friends</div> -<div class="verse">Renewing is of love.</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="unindent">You will find it a renewal of—Idgits, I’m -thinking.”</p> - -<p>But it was another week before the clash -came. A few preliminary skirmishes marked -the passage of time, but Barbara might have -overthrown theories and plans, however “necessary,” -if matters had not been precipitated -by a morning visitor.</p> - -<p>“I just thought I’d drop in,” said Miss -Bates, coming up to the porch where Barbara -was sitting shelling peas and Gassy was reading.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -“I wanted to see how you were getting -on. Where you goin’, Gassy?”</p> - -<p>“To read where people aren’t talking,” -answered the little girl as she left the porch.</p> - -<p>Miss Bates shook her head sorrowfully. “It’s -awful to see how those children act without -their mama,” she said. “I don’t like to complain, -Barbara, but Cecilia’s conduct to me is -almost beyond parallel! An’ Charles called -me a real naughty name yesterday, when I -took his toy reins off of my gate-posts.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” said Barbara, mechanically, -putting some peas in with the pods. “I’ll -speak to Charles—”</p> - -<p>She was interrupted by the voice of one -who called with authority, “Barbara, ain’t -them peas done? It’s time to put them on.”</p> - -<p>Barbara excused herself, and carried in the -dish. When she returned, with flaming cheeks, -Miss Bates was watching for her with open -curiosity.</p> - -<p>“I heard you quarreling about the potatoes,” -she said. “They say you’re completely -changed now, an’ that you haven’t the say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -about anything any more, since that Englishwoman -came; but I didn’t believe it until I -heard you give up about havin’ the potatoes -mashed.”</p> - -<p>They had forgotten the presence of David, -who had been reading in a corner of the -porch all morning.</p> - -<p>“You always have your say about everything, -don’t you?” he inquired dreamily. “I -wonder how you know so many things people -say. Barbara never does.”</p> - -<p>“I must go,” said Miss Bates, rising abruptly. -“Barbara, since things <i>are</i> all took -off your hands, why don’t you spend some -time teaching them children manners?”</p> - -<p>Barbara ate her appetizing dinner in almost -complete silence. The comfort of sitting down -to a well-set table and of staying there -throughout the meal, without rising half a -hundred times for forgotten articles, had no -power to soothe her injured feelings. So all -Auburn was talking about her, and calling her -incompetent, and imposed upon by a woman -who was only a kitchen “help”! It was intolerable,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -and she would endure it no longer. -She would take the initiative, and once for -all convince Mrs. Harris of the necessity of -subordination.</p> - -<p>After dinner, Barbara wiped the dishes, a -task which Mrs. Harris exacted on ironing-day. -Her resentful silence was lost entirely on -the Duchess, whose good-humor was almost -startlingly displayed in conversation.</p> - -<p>“I’ve ben hironin’ like a fiend to-day,” -she said in a self-satisfied tone, “an’ there’ll -be plenty o’ time this afternoon to finish, -an’ to put up them tomatoes as ’as ben waiting -to be put up. You’ll ’ave to ’elp, Barbara, -if we’re to get them done in time.”</p> - -<p>“That will be impossible, I’m afraid,” said -Barbara, endeavoring to keep her voice calm. -“Susan Hunt is coming over this afternoon -for a lesson.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, well, put ’er off,” replied the Duchess.</p> - -<p>Barbara moved uneasily. “No,” she answered -steadily. “I don’t wish to put her off. -The tomatoes can be put up to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“Them tomatoes is just right now, an’ it’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -so warm, lots O’ them will spoil afore mornin’,” -the Duchess answered, the smile dying out -of her face. “Go to the telephone, Barbara, -an’ tell that ’Unt girl she can’t come. She’s -ben runnin’ ’ere enough lately, an’ I can’t get -through them tomatoes alone.”</p> - -<p>For a moment Barbara wavered. Insufferable -as she felt this dictation to be, she thought -of the comfort and order of the house, and -her heart sank at the thought of losing them. -Then Miss Bates’s words suddenly came -back to her: “You haven’t the say about -anything any more; they say you’re completely -changed.”</p> - -<p>She turned on the unsuspecting Duchess. -“Mrs. Harris,” she said determinedly, “you -ordered those tomatoes yesterday, when I had -decided that it was best not to have them until -later, because of the ironing. Now you want -to put them up when it is inconvenient to -me to do so, because you have them on your -hands, and they may spoil. I cannot help you -this afternoon. If you cannot attend to them -alone, let them go until to-morrow, when I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -shall be at leisure. We shall simply have to -throw away those tomatoes which are not -good.”</p> - -<p>Auburn should have seen the expression of -the Duchess. Good-humor gave way to surprise, -which was succeeded by disapproval, -in turn to be routed by annoyance. It was not -until the last sentence that a Jove-like rage -sat upon her reddening countenance.</p> - -<p>“You <i>won’t</i> do them tomatoes?” she inquired -in a queer voice.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Barbara.</p> - -<p>“You’ll let ’em spoil?” incredulously.</p> - -<p>“Yes, if necessary.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harris stopped ironing. She reached -out a strong brown hand, and turned out the -gas under the irons. She unrolled the sleeves -of her brown calico dress. Then she turned -slowly toward her resolute mistress.</p> - -<p>“Barbara Grafton,” she said with an awful -calmness of manner, “you’re an ungrateful, -’ard-’eaded girl, an’ I’m sorry for your family. -I come ’ere to ’elp you hout in your trouble,—I -ain’t no common ’elp,—an’ you flies in my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -face whenever you can, an’ goes agin me -every chanct you get. What does I do about -that? Nothin’. You try to make me spend -my time in frills, an’ fussin’ over things as -the finest families in Hengland never ’as. -What does I do? Nothin’. I goes on my way -an’ swallers insults from a chit of a girl. I -seen lots o’ things sence I come which ’urt -my sensitive disposition, but I passes ’em by. -Now it comes to tomatoes, an’ I guess we’ll -part. You’re an ungrateful girl, an’ I washes -my hands of you.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Harris crossed over to the sink, and -solemnly washed and wiped her hands. Then -she put on her faded black bonnet, which -always hung by its rusty strings from a hook -behind the door. She stood a minute, on the -threshold, and looked at Barbara in Olympic -sorrow.</p> - -<p>“Onct more,” she said almost entreatingly, -“will you ’elp with them tomatoes?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Barbara.</p> - -<p>The screen-door banged loudly. Barbara -was alone again.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER VII<br /> - -<small>“THE FALLING OUT OF FAITHFUL FRIENDS”</small></h2> - - -<p class="drop-cap">THE Kid stamped loudly up the piazza -steps, and trotted through the -house to find Barbara. His infant -intellect, assisted by the pangs of his stomach, -assured him that it was past the dinner-hour. -And yet no loud-tongued bell, -energetically operated upon by the Duchess, -had summoned him from his play in the dusty -street. On such a dire occasion the Kid always -reported to headquarters; and passing -through the empty dining-room, he came -upon Barbara alone in the kitchen, desperately -struggling with a can of salmon. The -Kid stopped on the threshold and stared.</p> - -<p>Barbara, with the can in one hand and the -opener in the other, was hotly endeavoring to -effect a combination of the two, with a notable -lack of success. At first she held the can in -the air, and attempted to punch a hole in it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -with the can-opener; but as this seemed an -entirely futile course, she gave it up, and -adopted a new method of attack. When -Charles arrived upon the scene of action, she -placed the can firmly on the table, and gave -it a vicious stab with her knife. The tin -yielded; Barbara smiled, and all was proceeding -merrily, when a sudden, inexplicable twist -jerked can and can-opener out of her hand -and landed them both on the floor. Barbara -forgot herself, and stamped her foot forcibly.</p> - -<p>“Where’s Mrs. Harris?” inquired the Kid, -with a look of fearful anticipation gathering -in his eyes.</p> - -<p>No reply. His sister picked up the can, -and succeeded in boring a small hole in its -top.</p> - -<p>“Say, where’s Mrs. Harris?” repeated the -little boy, anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Charles,” said Barbara, looking at the -child for the first time,—“mercy, how dirty -you are!—Charles, dinner will be ready soon. -Mrs. Harris has left us—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> - -<p>She stopped short in astonishment. The -Kid had thrown himself prone upon the floor, -and had broken into loud wails.</p> - -<p>“What is it? What is it?” she cried, running -to him and trying to pull him up from -the floor.</p> - -<p>The Kid held his tough little body down, -and wept copiously.</p> - -<p>Barbara tried sternness. “Charles, get up -this minute,” she commanded, “and tell me -what is the matter.”</p> - -<p>The Kid lifted a woe-begone face to his -sister.</p> - -<p>“She’s gone,” he said, “and we can’t ever -have any more beefsteak, or lamb with gravy.”</p> - -<p>“Was that what you were crying for?” -asked Barbara, coldly. “Charles, I am disgusted -with you. Now you get up and wash -your hands, and dinner will soon be ready.”</p> - -<p>She sighed as she carried in the salmon, -extracted from the hole in the can in minute -sections, so that it resembled a pile of sawdust -rather than the body of a fish. She found -herself wishing that it had been possible to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -reconcile her desires and Mrs. Harris’s commands.</p> - -<p>It was a melancholy family that partook -of the pulverized fish, fried potatoes, bread, -butter, and bananas, which constituted Barbara’s -effort.</p> - -<p>“Oh dear!” sighed Jack, as he took his -seat. “Variety is the spice of life; we certainly -have that, so I suppose you think we don’t -care for the other spices, having left the pepper-cellar -in the pantry. I always did like -pepper on fried potatoes.”</p> - -<p>David lifted his large blue eyes and let them -rest on his elder sister.</p> - -<p>“You must be like Cinderella’s sisters,” he -said reflectively. “Had such an awful temper,—couldn’t -anybody live with ’em.”</p> - -<p>Barbara looked angrily at the little boy, -but his face was so innocent that her heart -softened. She did not answer him, but began -to explain matters to her father, who looked -grave and rather preoccupied. Her story did -not seem to impress him, for some reason, -and Barbara found herself faltering over her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -account, and justifying herself in every other -sentence.</p> - -<p>“Yes—yes,” said the Doctor, abstractedly, -as she finished. “Of course you ought not to -have to put up tomatoes if you don’t want -to. Mrs. Harris was a very capable woman, -though, and you are in for another siege, -I’m afraid. It’s too bad. You will have to try -to get some one else.” And, looking at his -watch, he left the table.</p> - -<p>Gassy had been quiet during the whole -meal, her elfish locks, bright eyes, and silence -making her more conspicuous than if she had -shouted. After dinner, she soberly enveloped -herself in her large apron, and took her place -at Barbara’s side, ready to help her sister.</p> - -<p>“I hate dishes,” she remarked conversationally, -as she took the first plate in hand. -“They are never over, and they never change. -I must have wiped this Robinson Crusoe plate -of the Kid’s at least a million times since -mama went—There! Oh my, Barbara, I’ve -broken it!”</p> - -<p>“Cecilia! Why don’t you hold on to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -things you take in your hands?” cried Barbara. -“I never saw such a child! You break -everything you touch!”</p> - -<p>The child’s face flushed. She stood quietly -a moment, and wiped two plates with deftness -and precision. The next moment, Barbara at -the sink suddenly felt as if a whirlwind had -struck the room. A dishcloth went whizzing -upwards until it clung to the clock on the -shelf, a wriggling figure freed itself from a -blue-checked apron, which was flung tumultuously -on the floor, and an agitated, retreating -voice exclaimed, “I’ll never—<i>never</i>—<span class="smcap">NEVER</span> -wipe for you again! There!”</p> - -<p>Barbara finished the work alone, and went -to the porch, with a struggle going on in her -mind. She felt that she was failing, in spite -of her best efforts,—failing with the children, -failing to do the “simple” household tasks, -and to manage the household machinery that -had never been so startlingly in evidence -before. What was the cause of it all?</p> - -<p>“Of course I am not very experienced,” -Barbara said to herself, “but still, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -moderately good servant, I am sure I could -manage very well. The trouble has been with -the frightful maids we have had. And the -children are demoralized by the frequent -changes, and are hard to control. Oh, for one -good cook, so that I could show myself to -be the capable girl that a college girl ought -to be!”</p> - -<p>She felt so cheered by her soliloquy, which -she did not realize to be unconscious self-justification, -that she sat down almost happily -to write the daily report that went to brighten -her mother’s exile. In spite of all domestic -accidents and crises, this letter was always -written; and the more lugubrious Barbara’s -state of mind, the harder she strove for a -merry report. She had nearly finished the -last sheet, with flying fingers, when a chuckle -caused her to look up, and discover that -Jack had been reading page after page, as -she had discarded it.</p> - -<p>“Bab,” he said, “you certainly do write the -funniest letters I ever read. If you should try -to write a story instead of ‘The Absolute In-ness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -of the Internal Entity,’ you would make -your fortune immediately. I don’t see how -you can write one way and feel another, -as you do.”</p> - -<p>Barbara’s reply was checked by the appearance -of Susan, and Jack disappeared, -carrying the letter with him.</p> - -<p>“I’m so glad to see you!” said Barbara, -cordially. “Did you bring your Browning -with you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered Susan, sitting down in -the big cane rocker. “Yes, I brought him, -and a basket of mending besides. I am -awfully behind in it, and I can talk and darn -at the same time.”</p> - -<p>The glad light faded out of Barbara’s eyes. -“Why, Sue dear!” she said, “that’s impossible. -No one could possibly study Browning -and do anything else at the same time. He -absorbs all the energy and attention that one -has.”</p> - -<p>“Oh dear!” sighed Susan. “I did want to -begin our lessons to-day, but we’ll have to put -it off till to-morrow, then. Bob leaves for New<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -York to-night, you know, and he must have -all the socks that I can muster.”</p> - -<p>“Are you really going to mend those things -now, instead of reading the ‘Ring’ with -me?”</p> - -<p>Susan looked up quickly. “Why, what -else can I do?” she said. “Bob must have -decent clothes, and we can begin the ‘Ring’ -to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” responded Barbara, icily. “Of -course Browning doesn’t mean so much to -you as he does to me. But I considered our -engagement to read this afternoon so binding -that I have just lost Mrs. Harris in consequence.”</p> - -<p>“Lost Mrs. Harris in consequence?” repeated -Susan. “Why, Barbara, how?”</p> - -<p>“She insisted upon putting up tomatoes -this afternoon when I couldn’t help her, -because of our engagement, and—well, she -wouldn’t stay when I was firm,” replied Barbara, -wishing that the subject of disagreement -had been a little more dignified. “Really, -Susan, that woman was insufferable.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And you let her go for that?” cried Susan, -in a surprised voice.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered Barbara.</p> - -<p>Susan jabbed her big needle into a large -sock, with energy. Her friend watched her -with uninterested gaze. Suddenly Susan -stopped, and looked at Barbara with an expression -of determination.</p> - -<p>“Babbie,” she said with an air of having -summoned up her courage,—“Babbie, I -hope you won’t think me officious, but I feel -that I must tell you some things. Even if I -am not a college girl, I have learned a good -deal about common things in these four quiet -years at home. You are having a hard time, -my dear, as everybody knows. Of course -every one talks about it. But I don’t know -<i>what</i> people will say when they find out why -Mrs. Harris left,—for of course they will find -out.”</p> - -<p>Susan stopped her incoherent outburst, and -eyed Barbara doubtfully. Then she went on.</p> - -<p>“It was dreadful of you to let Mrs. Harris -go, when she had been so kind. What if she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -<i>did</i> go contrary to your ideas! Some of them -are queer, you know, and why did you care, -anyway, so long as your poor family were taken -care of comfortably? You can’t get along -without a maid, Barbara,—it’s all too much -for you. But I’m afraid you’ll find it hard to -get any one to come, now.”</p> - -<p>Susan stopped uncertainly.</p> - -<p>“Do finish,” said a cold voice from the -hammock.</p> - -<p>Susan looked at the motionless figure lying -in an attitude of superior attentiveness, and -her color rose.</p> - -<p>“Barbara, I can’t let it go on,” she broke -out. “If no one suffered but yourself, it would -be different But the children are affected, -too. David never looked so really ill as he -does now; and if you are not careful, you -will find him sick on your hands. Your father -is worn and worried all the time, and you -yourself are as thin as a rail. It’s because you -don’t accommodate yourself to circumstances. -You insist upon carrying out some absurd -theoretical ideas in the face of practical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -difficulties. And I hate to have people talk -about you as they do.”</p> - -<p>As these last words fell upon her ears, Barbara -sprang up from the hammock. Her eyes -were flashing, and her dignity had utterly -disappeared.</p> - -<p>“Don’t ever say that to me again!” she -cried excitedly. “I don’t care a continental -what people say about me! Just because I -have been away all these years and have had -superior advantages, all the people of Auburn -discuss me and criticise me, and are—well, -jealous!”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean that I am jealous?” asked -Susan, an unusual light in her soft blue eyes.</p> - -<p>“That makes no difference,” retorted Barbara. -“The truth of the matter is, that you -have stayed here, and have had some experience -in housekeeping, and you have grown to -think that it is so important that nothing else -is of value to you—none of the higher things. -If that is what you and Auburn mean,—that -I care more for,—yes, Browning, and literature, -and the real issues of life, than for housekeeping,—then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -you are quite right I do. -And I always shall. And I must say that I -resent any interference whatever.”</p> - -<p>There was a long silence. Then Susan rose, -biting her lips, to hide their trembling. “I -must go,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you stay longer?” asked Barbara, -politely.</p> - -<p>“No, I’m afraid not,” replied Susan.</p> - -<p>To both girls, the very air was full of constraint. -Barbara accompanied her visitor to -the gate, where they parted with scarcely a -word. Then she turned back swiftly to the -porch, and sat down in the chair just vacated -by Susan. She pressed her hand to her -temples.</p> - -<p>“I must think this out,” she said aloud. -“Could I have been wrong?”</p> - -<p>Some time later, the Kid cantered up to the -porch. He went straight to a bowed figure -in the big chair, and pulled down the hands -from the hidden face.</p> - -<p>“I’m hungry, Barb’ra,” he said. “Isn’t supper -ready?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> - -<p>Barbara put her arms around him, and -hugged him tightly.</p> - -<p>“<i>You</i> like me, little brother, don’t you?” -she said.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” answered the Kid, nonchalantly; -“and I’m hungry.”</p> - -<p>Barbara took him by the hand, and led him -gently into the house.</p> - -<p>“I think I can find something for hungry -little boys,” she said.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER VIII<br /> - -<small>APPLIED PHILANTHROPY</small></h2> - - -<p class="drop-cap">“DADDY, please fasten me up,” said -Barbara.</p> - -<p>The doctor thrust two large hands -inside of her gown, in the man’s way, using -them as fulcrums over which to pull the fragile -fabric with all the force of two strong thumbs. -“Pretty snug, isn’t it?” he said. “Where -are you going in your Sunday best?—mill -or meeting?”</p> - -<p>Barbara shook out the folds of her violet -gown. “Meeting,” she responded. “The Woman’s -Club has asked me to give them a -paper to-day.”</p> - -<p>“The Woman’s Club! What has become -of the A. L. L. A.?”</p> - -<p>“The Auburn Ladies’ Literary Association -is still in existence, unfortunately. But it isn’t -going to be long.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?” asked her father.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s going to have its name changed, if -I have any influence with its members,” said -Barbara. “Isn’t it absurd for it to go on -calling itself ‘<i>Ladies’</i> Literary Association,’ -just because it has been used to the title for -thirty years, when every other women’s organization -in the country is ‘Woman’s Club’? And -‘<i>Literary</i>’! Did you ever hear of anything so -pretentious! Nobody is literary nowadays, -but Tolstoi and Maeterlinck. Besides, the -name debars the members from philanthropic -and civic work, which are the moving factors -in all club life. I shall certainly make an effort -to have the other members change the name, -this very day.”</p> - -<p>“You’d better keep your hands off,” -laughed the doctor. “The A. L. L. A. is -Auburn’s Holy of Holies. What are you -going to ‘stand and deliver’ before it?”</p> - -<p>“One of my college papers. I haven’t had -time to write anything new since the Duchess -left. It’s on the ‘Psychology of the Child in -Relation to Club Work.’ I had to piece on -half the title to make it appropriate.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> - -<p>The suspicion of a twinkle lurked about -the doctor’s eyes. “Well, good luck to you,” -he said; “the Literary Association may not -approve of your paper, but it can’t find fault -with your dress.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t know what you’re talking -about,” said Jack. “That garb is like all the -rest of Barbara,—it’s too irritatingly new -to pass unscathed in Auburn. Is that churn -effect the Umpire Style, Barb?”</p> - -<p>“It can’t rouse any more criticism than it -has already had,” said his sister. “I shan’t -care what they say about the gown, if they -only hear my message.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>With subdued swish of black silk skirts, and -a decorous silencing of whispers, the Auburn -Ladies’ Literary Association came to order. -Barbara, with veiled amusement, looked about -the familiar “parlors” of the Presbyterian -church. The standard and banner, with the -legend “Honor Class,” had been moved into -a corner, the melodeon, stripped of its green -cover, stood in walnut nakedness on the platform,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -and a sprawling bunch of carnations -and a gavel ornamented the superintendent’s -desk. The map of Palestine, done in colored -chalk, had been partially erased from the -blackboard at the head of the room, and -beneath it was written the following</p> - - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Program</span></p> - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Program details"> -<tr><td align="left" colspan="3"><i>Roll Call.</i> Answered by quotations from Shakespeare.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"> </td></tr> -<tr><td align="left" colspan="3"><i>Instrumental Solo.</i> “Murmuring Zephyrs.”</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Miss Martha Crary.</span></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"> </td></tr> -<tr><td align="left" colspan="3"><i>Recitation.</i> “Queen of the Flowers.”</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Miss Hypatia Harrison.</span></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"> </td></tr> -<tr><td align="left" colspan="3"><i>Paper.</i> “Geo. Eliot’s Life, Character, and Position as a Novelist.”</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Abbie Penfold.</span></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"> </td></tr> -<tr><td align="left" colspan="3"><i>Vocal Solo.</i> “Night Sinks on the Wave.”</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Miss Libbie Darwin.</span></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"> </td></tr> -<tr><td align="left" colspan="3"><i>Address.</i> “The Literary Atmosphere of Our Club.”</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Angie Bankson.</span></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"> </td></tr> -<tr><td align="left" rowspan="2"><i>Readings.</i></td><td align="left" rowspan="2" class="btlb"> </td><td align="left"><i>a.</i> Macbeth.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><i>b.</i> Daisy’s Daisies.</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Miss Coleman.</span></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"> </td></tr> -<tr><td align="left" colspan="3"><i>Paper.</i> “Psychology of the Child in Relation to Club Work.”</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Miss Barbara Prentice Grafton.</span></td></tr> -</table> -</div> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s to be hoped that Abbie’s and Angie’s -are not so long as mine,” thought Barbara, -irreverently, “or there’ll be no one to put the -Grafton mackerel to soak to-night; to say -nothing of all the winds and waves that must -be passed through before they come to me.”</p> - -<p>It was the “wind and wave” part of the -program that appealed to the audience. The -papers were accorded polite attention, as befitted -Auburn manners, but the musical numbers -and readings were followed by the subdued -hum that is an expression of club delight. -For Barbara, the entire entertainment of the -day was not furnished by the program. Between -the swaying fans she caught glimpses -of Mrs. Enderby’s placid face, relaxed in sleep; -from the church kitchen came the rattle of -paper napkins and the clink of Miss Pettibone’s -tray, and from the rear of the room -sounded, at intervals, the cough of Mrs. -Crampton, a genteel warning to speakers -that their voices did not “carry.”</p> - -<p>“Was there ever a human being more -frightfully out of her element than I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -here!” thought Barbara. “If the House-Plant -could only see Mrs. Enderby! But she’s no -more asleep than all the rest of them. What -<i>am</i> I going to do to wake them up!”</p> - -<p>This thought was uppermost in her mind -as the afternoon was tinkled and applauded -away. It was more than ever prominent as -the precise, ladylike voice of Mrs. Bankson -was raised a half-tone higher in her closing -paragraph:—</p> - -<p>“But, however, after all is said and done, -it is the <i>literary</i> atmosphere that makes our -club what it is. The dearly-loved paths that -we have followed for many years have led us -to lofty summits and ever-widening vistas, -but never away from our original goal. The -Ever-Womanly has always been our aim, and, -while less substantial ambitions have fluttered -by on airy wing, and the thunder of the new -woman has rolled even upon our peaceful horizon, -we have never faltered in our footsteps.</p> - -<p>“On, on we go in our devotion to literature. -And, as one of the most notable of our lady -poets has so aptly expressed it,—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Still forever yawns before our eyes</div> -<div class="verse">An Utmost, that is veiled.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>A ladylike patter of applause, and a more -active flutter of fans, greeted the end of the -speech. The back door creaked violently, and -Miss Pettibone’s round face appeared in the -opening to see if time for refreshment had -come. It disappeared suddenly as Miss Coleman -mounted the platform to impersonate, -first a bloody Macbeth, and then a swaying -field daisy. And, finally, Barbara Prentice -Grafton and the Empire gown faced the Literary -Association.</p> - -<p>Later, when she recalled the afternoon, Barbara -was surprised to remember how little of -her original paper she had used. The triviality -of the program had supplied her with text -enough, and the “Psychology of the Child” -was partially diverted into a sermon upon the -aimlessness of a purely literary club. In her -earnestness she was carried beyond caution.</p> - -<p>“I call you to new things,” rang out her -resolute voice, in conclusion. “Literary effort -in club life is outworn. You <i>can</i> read your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -Homer alone, but it takes concentrated, combined -interest to accomplish the <i>vital</i> things -of living. You have read too long. It is philanthropy -we need in Auburn,—civic improvement, -educational effort that shall be for -the masses rather than our selfish selves. I -call you to this. I ask you to work with me -for the good of our town and our people.”</p> - -<p>The effect of Barbara’s personal magnetism -was never more strongly evidenced than by -the genuine applause that greeted her effort. -The Literary Association might disapprove -her theories and her violet gown, but her sincerity -was inspiring. The Auburn mothers -caught the contagion in her voice, and were -interested, if not convinced.</p> - -<p>There was a momentary pause as the applause -subsided. Then Barbara said earnestly: -“I’m afraid I may have been too abstract in -my statements. But I have very definite ideas -of what might be done in Auburn that would -be most beneficial to our children and ourselves. -The crêche that I spoke of is one of -them. If any of you care to ask any questions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -I shall be glad to answer them. If I can,” -she added more modestly.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Enderby, who had been aroused from -her nap just in time to hear Barbara’s ringing -close, rose to the occasion. To her a question -was a question. “Miss Barbara,” she inquired, -an interested expression on her rested face, -“do you believe in children going barefoot -this hot weather?”</p> - -<p>Barbara looked surprised. “W-why, n-no,” -she said.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Mrs. Enderby, conversationally, -“I was wondering.”</p> - -<p>There was another pause. Then Mrs. Bellows -rose in her place. “Did I understand -you to say <i>Kreysh?</i>”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Barbara. “A day-nursery -would be the first form of philanthropy I -should advise for Auburn.”</p> - -<p>“What need, if I may ask,” inquired Mrs. -Bellows, impressively, “has Auburn for a day-nursery?”</p> - -<p>Barbara explained the relief to the mother -and the good to the child.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It seems to me,” remarked Mrs. Bellows, -“that a Kretch is about as necessary here as -two tails to a cat. If there’s a death or sickness -in the family, I send the children over -to Lib’s. Otherwise, I’d rather have them at -home. They gad enough as it is.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean that the mothers are to -take turns in taking care of all the children -in town?” asked Mrs. Penfold.</p> - -<p>“My goodness!” murmured Mrs. Enderby.</p> - -<p>“It saves the children from the moving-picture -shows and the cheap theatres that are -among the most pernicious of evil influences,” -said Barbara. “It keeps them off the street -and out of bad company”—</p> - -<p>“Not if she lets that Charles attend,” whispered -Mrs. Bellows to the woman in the next -chair. “I’ve forbidden Sydney to play with -him.”</p> - -<p>“And gives the mothers a vacation. Instead -of the care of their little ones every -day, they have charge of them possibly two -afternoons a summer.”</p> - -<p>“I’d hate to trust my boys to Bertha -Enderby,” whispered Mrs. Bellows again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the discussion that followed, Barbara -offered her most convincing inducement. “I’m -not a mother,” she said, “but I am willing to -do my part toward furthering the work. If I -can have coöperation in the establishment of -the nursery, I’ll give my time, in turn, to it. -And I think—I’m not certain about it, but I -think I may be able to furnish the room for -the purpose.”</p> - -<p>The novelty of the idea carried the day -with the younger members of the club, and -when Barbara took her place again, the seed -of the enterprise had been planted. But her -second mission to the Association met with -less favorable result. The suggestion for the -change of name met with decided opposition.</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t seem ladylike to call it <i>Woman’s</i> -Club,” objected Mrs. Angie Bankson.</p> - -<p>“The name has been good enough for us for -thirty years,” said Mrs. Bellows, with acerbity.</p> - -<p>“A. L. L. A. makes such a good monogram,” -sighed Miss Lillie Beckett, who designed -the programs for the club on state -occasions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Enderby’s sleep had filled her with -good-will toward the world, and she amiably -proposed a compromise. “Why not keep our -old initials,” she said, “and take another -name, each word beginning with the same -letter as the old one?”</p> - -<p>“What, for instance?” demanded Mrs. Bellows. -“Do you happen to think of any?”</p> - -<p>The sarcasm of the speech was lost on -Mrs. Enderby.</p> - -<p>“Well, Auburn for the first word,” she suggested -mildly.</p> - -<p>But when put to vote, the motion was lost. -The Auburn Ladies’ Literary Association triumphed, -and the “Woman’s Club” died before -it was born.</p> - -<p>“That snip of a Barbara Grafton!” said -Mrs. Bellows to her neighbor, as the pink -sherbet and the paper napkins went around. -“The idea of her being invited to address us, -and then giving that fool advice to women -that knew her when she should have been -spanked! I’d never send a child of mine to -college, if I had all the money in the world.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -Normal school can do enough harm. I didn’t -know she could be such a fool! <i>Kretch!</i>”</p> - -<p>Susan leaned over from the next chair. -“Barbara isn’t a fool, Mrs. Bellows,” she said -warmly; “she’s the cleverest girl I ever -knew.”</p> - -<p>“In books, maybe,” sniffed Mrs. Bellows.</p> - -<p>“No, in everything,” said Susan. “It is in -books that she’s had the most training, but -she is just as clever in other things. She’s -had an awful time this summer with sickness, -and poor help, and housework, and no experience -in any of them. Any one else would -have been discouraged long ago. But she has -stuck it out, and been big and brave and -cheerful about it, to give her mother a chance -to get well. I can’t let any one say anything -against Barbara.”</p> - -<p>The two women looked their surprise at -the warm defense from quiet Susan.</p> - -<p>“It’s her theories I object to, not her,” said -Mrs. Bellows.</p> - -<p>“She won’t keep them all,” said Susan. -“She’ll always be loyal to her own convictions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -just as she is now; but she’ll find out -later that some of them are not so worth while -as she is herself. Then she’ll sift them out.”</p> - -<p>“I wish she’d hurry up with her sifting, -then,” said Mrs. Bellows.</p> - -<p>Barbara, in the meantime, had not waited -for her sherbet but had hurried home to prepare -the meal. In the evening she laid the -matter of the nursery before her father, and -was surprised to be met with some of the same -objections that had been advanced at the -woman’s club.</p> - -<p>“But mayn’t I <i>try?</i>” she pleaded finally.</p> - -<p>“I see your heart is set on it,” said the -doctor. “I’m not going to refuse you the -carriage-house for the use of your children, -though I do think you won’t need it more -than once. Auburn has no real <i>poor</i>, you -know. Only, Barbara, <i>don’t</i> take any more -upon yourself this hot weather! The Kid is -a whole day-nursery, himself.”</p> - -<p>It took all Barbara’s leisure time from Monday -until Thursday, which was the appointed -day for the opening, to get the deserted, dusty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -carriage-house in order; to coax sulky Sam, -the stable-boy, to move the accumulation of -broken-down sleighs and phaetons into a corner; -to hire two women to sweep, scrub, and -dust floors, windows, and walls, in order to -make the carriage-house fit for an afternoon’s -habitation by the many clean, starched children -whom she hoped to see. But it was -worth it,—oh, yes, it was worth it!—and Barbara’s -heart glowed with enthusiasm at the -idea of driving the entering wedge of civic -improvement into the flinty heart of staid -Auburn.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the house suffered. Dr. Grafton -was called away at meal-times with conspicuous -frequency. Gassy, David, and the Kid did -not object greatly, for their imaginations were -fired by the elaborate preparations for the -“party,” which the Kid firmly believed to be -held in honor of his birthday, three months -past. But Jack protested bitterly.</p> - -<p>“Another ‘walk-around’!” he ejaculated, -coming in at six o’clock Wednesday evening, -and gazing blankly at the bare dining-room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -“Say, Barb, a fellow that’s been canoeing -all afternoon has an appetite that reaches -from Dan to Beersheba. I don’t want to make -you mad, but I feel mighty like Mother Hubbard’s -dog.”</p> - -<p>Barbara looked up nervously. “Now, Jack, -what difference does it make to you whether -you sit at table with the others and use up -hundreds of dishes, or eat in the kitchen and -save my time? The bread is in the pantry -with butter and raspberries, and there is some -cold meat in the ice-box. Cut all you want. -Besides, I have sent Charles over to Miss -Pettibone’s for a blueberry pie.”</p> - -<p>Jack looked unwontedly cross. “Sometimes -I think you are the camel that edged himself -into the tent and crowded out his master,” -he said. “These walk-arounds on Sunday -nights were pleasant enough at first with -everything piled on the kitchen table, so that -we walked around with a sandwich in each -hand; but it comes so often now that it seems -as if ‘every day’ll be Sunday by and by.’”</p> - -<p>Barbara’s reply was checked by the sudden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -appearance of the Kid, bearing a disk in both -hands. The paper covering was torn and -spotted with blue patches, and a broad stain -extended the full length of his blouse. He put -his burden carefully on the table, and turned -apologetically to Barbara.</p> - -<p>“I may have dropped that pie; I don’t -remember,” he said.</p> - -<p>“N. P., no pie for me!” declared Jack. “Au -revoir, Miss Grafton. Peter asked me over -to supper, and there’s still time to overtake -him.”</p> - -<p>Away went Jack, lustily chanting “The -Roast Beef of Old England.” Barbara fed the -Kid to the brim, feeling somewhat guilty -when she met his clear young eyes full of -affectionate trust in his big sister. It was too -bad to offer up the family on the altar of philanthropy. -The Infant’s cruel prediction as -to a Jellyby future came back to her, but the -ends justified the means in this case.</p> - -<p>The next morning was so clear, warm, and -bright, that Barbara’s spirits rose to fever -heat. This was the day of her opportunity to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -loosen the bondage of Auburn mothers, and -to take the first step toward raising them to -higher standards of ease and culture. Her -face beamed as she sped downstairs to do -the daily tasks which awaited her. Breakfast -was ready long before any one appeared to -partake of it; dishes were washed in haste, -beds made in a trice,—just this once!—and -dusting passed over entirely.</p> - -<p>All Barbara’s morning was spent in planning -games, in decorating the carriage-house -with flags, in going to Miss Pettibone’s for the -dozens of cookies which she had ordered, and -in finding cool space in the refrigerator for -twelve bottles of milk. The children were to -come at two; and at half-past one Barbara sat -on the porch, dressed in a simple white gown, -waiting for the first arrival and for her assistant, -Mrs. Enderby.</p> - -<p>At five minutes after two, there were no -children. At ten minutes past, still no children. -At fifteen minutes after two, Mrs. Enderby’s -fat, placid self waddled up to the doctor’s -gate.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My children are coming along,” she said. -“It’s awful warm. I’ve brought a palm-leaf -fan. I can fan the children, if you want me to. -Any come yet?”</p> - -<p>“No, not yet,” replied Barbara. She had -been awaiting the arrival of Mrs. Enderby -with that desire for moral support which a new -undertaking always brings upon its authors. -Mrs. Enderby, as the mother of six children, -might well be expected to furnish any amount -of support derived from experience; but -somehow, as Barbara looked at her, she felt -that she had made a great mistake. A cushion -cannot serve as a propelling-board; and poor -Mrs. Enderby looked very cushiony.</p> - -<p>She sat rocking slowly and evenly on the -porch. “If no one comes by three o’clock,” -she said, “I think I’ll leave and go over to -Main Street to see the new moving pictures. -I forgot about them when I promised to help.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I am sure some children will come,” -Barbara replied hastily. “It is such a fine -chance for the mothers to rest.”</p> - -<p>At quarter of three, it seemed to the confused<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -girl that all Auburn was invading her -lawn in a body. Streams of small children, -dragged along by elder brothers, sisters, -nurses, and mothers, descended upon the -house like a flood. The air resounded with -the shrieks of suddenly deserted youngsters, -with the threats and warnings of their departing -guardians, with the consolations of Barbara, -Mrs. Enderby, and Gassy herself. Just -as suddenly as they had come, all the natural -protectors left, with singular unanimity, Barbara -thought. It was not at all as she had -planned. There had been no grateful approach -of a mother at a time to meet the white-robed, -calm hostess; no pleasant chat, no graceful reassurance -of a child’s safety. But an enormous -wave had broken upon the Grafton house and -as quickly retreated, leaving thirty-nine pebbles -of assorted sizes on the shore. Thirty-nine! -Barbara gasped.</p> - -<p>Her first step was to sweep the children to -the carriage-house in a body. Mrs. Enderby -led the procession, waddling along like a very -fat hen, with innumerable little chickens running<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -after. Barbara brought up the rear, anxiously -counting thirty-nine over and over to -herself. Loyal little Gassy kept her eyes upon -the children as if she had been transformed -into a faithful watch-dog. And the Kid himself -seemed to exercise a remarkable amount -of oversight; he was waiting for the presents -which were, of course, the object of a birthday -party.</p> - -<p>Barbara’s whole subsequent recollection of -the afternoon lay in a picture,—the one which -greeted her as she stepped into the carriage-house, -gently pushing the last of the flock -before her. The large room seemed to her -bewildered eyes fairly decorated with children. -Every broken-down buggy and sleigh was -filled with more than its quota, and prancing -steeds were tugging at the ancient shafts in -vain. In a corner of the room, ten boys were -fighting for possession of a dilapidated harness. -Shrieks of delight were rising from the -hay-mow above her head, and thin little legs -were running up and down the upright ladder -with spider-like agility.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> - -<p>Barbara gasped. “Mrs. Enderby!” she -exclaimed. “How shall we ever get them together -again!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Enderby did not answer. She stood -in the middle of the room with her fan idle in -her hand and her head turned backward as -far as it would go. Involuntarily following -her gaze, Barbara looked up and saw a sight -which haunted her in dreams forever after.</p> - -<p>Fifteen feet above the floor, a long, narrow -beam extended horizontally from one edge -of the hay-mow to the opposite wall. Sitting -on the beam, with legs dangling down, sat -seventeen children, one behind another, so -tightly wedged that there would not have -been space for even half a child more. Wriggling, -twisting, turning upon one another,—and -at any instant the slender beam might -break!</p> - -<p>It was little Gassy who saw the look of -frozen horror on Barbara’s face, and took -action first. Without a word she sprang up -the ladder and out to the edge of the hay-mow. -There she called out:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Each kid that comes back <i>now</i>, slowly -and carefully, gets a cookie!”</p> - -<p>No one moved. Mrs. Enderby down below -dropped her fan and began walking up and -down beneath the beam, with her ample -skirts outspread to catch any child overcome -by dizziness.</p> - -<p>“A raisin cookie!” cried Gassy.</p> - -<p>No one stirred.</p> - -<p>“With nuts in it!”</p> - -<p>The child nearest the hay-loft began to -wriggle backwards. “I get first choice!” she -said.</p> - -<p>“Second!”</p> - -<p>“Third!”</p> - -<p>The line took up the slow wriggle, and -Barbara below watched, with her skirts also -extended. She could think of nothing else -to do.</p> - -<p>“Slowly!” shouted Gassy militantly. “Keep -below there, Mrs. Enderby. Each kid has to -go down the ladder to Barbara for the cookie, -an’ <i>stay</i> down. Then we’ll play down there.”</p> - -<p>Children respond quickly to an appeal to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -stomach. In less than five minutes, seventeen -children were munching seventeen cookies, -and a rousing game of “Drop the Handkerchief” -had been started by a now thoroughly -alert Barbara. Most of the children -joined in with gusto. Mrs. Enderby picked up -her palm-leaf, and tapped Gassy with it approvingly.</p> - -<p>“Now you can just keep on helping by -counting thirty-nine over and over again,” -she said.</p> - -<p>Game succeeded game. London Bridge -fell down in weary repetition for Barbara. -The players assured themselves unto seventy -times seven times that “King Willyum was -King George’s Son.” A trousers button had -to be pressed into each child’s hand as a hiding-place. -Six children at different times were -hurt, and cried. Mrs. Enderby, now that the -danger was over, took her chair into a corner -and went to sleep behind her fan. But faithful -Gassy remained at the front, singing with -rare abandon and helping to lead each game.</p> - -<p>Barbara herself was so engrossed in wiping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -away youthful tears, and in singing, that she -did not notice the gradual diminution of her -forces until Gassy suddenly took her aside.</p> - -<p>“Barbara,” she said anxiously, “there are -only twenty-seven kids in this room; where -are the others?”</p> - -<p>Barbara counted hastily; looked up in the -hay-mow; gave a wild glance into the abandoned -vehicles. It was true; the Kid himself -was missing. Then she crossed over to Mrs. -Enderby and touched her shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Enderby,” she said, “I am afraid -you will have to take ‘King William’ with -Gassy, while I look for twelve children who -seem to be missing.”</p> - -<p>She flung open the door, and looked around. -No children. Some odd instinct led her towards -her own house. As she approached, the -dining-room door facing the carriage-house -suddenly opened, and a swarm of little boys -issued forth. Little boys they were, but little -goblins they looked to be, so impish were their -faces, so bedraggled their appearance. Each -boy held in one hand a milk-bottle, which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -was applying to his lips in infant fashion; each -blouse was bulging with rapidly disappearing -cookies. Barbara’s refreshments were almost -a thing of the past.</p> - -<p>As she rushed over to the group, it disintegrated, -and in the centre, deserted by all -his fellows in crime, stood the guilty Kid.</p> - -<p>There were no words suitable for the occasion, -and therefore Barbara said nothing. -Under her stern gaze, the Kid visibly shrunk. -His milk-bottle dropped from his hand and -splashed them both. He began to weep most -violently.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t like birthday parties,” he -sobbed. “They didn’t bring any presents this -time; I asked ’em. An’ we got tired o’ games, -so we went wading in the creek an’ got all -wet. An’ nen we were hungry an’ I thought -you did forget the supper—”</p> - -<p>Wading! Barbara glanced around at the -little boys, and at the rest of the troop which -had filtered from the carriage-house. Were -these the children that had come to her house -several hours before—these unrecognizable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -<i>gamins?</i> The boys were the most torn; but -even the girls seemed lost in dirt and disorder.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Enderby made her leisurely way up -to Barbara, and began to fan her placidly. -“They’re all here,” she said; “I’ve just -counted the thirty-nine of ’em. And here -comes the mothers again, so our labors are -over.”</p> - -<p>Again the strange influx of parents and -guardians, which had so puzzled Barbara -before. Again the receding wave, carrying the -pebbles back this time.</p> - -<p>Barbara was vaguely conscious of choruses -of remarks singularly alike in character. -“James Greenleaf, <i>where</i> is your hat?”—“Robbie, -you dirty boy, come here”—“Martha, -how did you tear your apron so?” She -realized that she was not being thanked as -much as was her proper due. But all she -wished to do on earth was to get to her own -room to rest—not to think.</p> - -<p>It was not until next morning, however, -that the final blow fell. A very relaxed Barbara -sat at the head of the breakfast-table,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -and around its corner Jack was looking at her -quizzically.</p> - -<p>“What beats me,” he said, “is why you -should have been willing to do all that work -in order that the mothers of the enlightened -A. L. L. A. should be enabled to go almost in -a body to see the opening of the new moving-picture -theatre. Do you believe so heartily in -the ‘culchah’ of those things?”</p> - -<p>“Jack!” cried Barbara, starting from her -seat. “Jack, they <i>didn’t</i> do that, did they?”</p> - -<p>“They sure did,” responded her cruel -brother. “Nineteen maternal parents of the -thirty-nine were visible to me from my seat -in the back row. They had the time of their -lives.”</p> - -<p>Barbara’s eyes filled with tears at this disappointment -of her hopes. As she struggled -hard to keep them back, she caught the -glance of her father,—so apprehensive, so -tender, and yet so amused, that, although the -tears came from her eyes, laughter also -sounded from her lips.</p> - -<p>“‘Here endeth the first lesson,’” she said.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER IX<br /> - -<small>“WITHOUT”</small></h2> - - -<p class="drop-cap">THE alarm-clock under Barbara’s pillow -sent forth a muffled rattle, like -a querulous old woman with tooth-ache, -complaining from beneath her bandages. -The girl turned over in bed and sighed. -A moment later the town-clock struck six, with -insistent note, and after a sympathetic delay -of a minute more, the living-room clock below -sounded its admonition. Sleepily and reluctantly -Barbara drew forth the alarm-clock to -make sure of the worst.</p> - -<p>“It’s <i>always</i> six o’clock,” she said crossly. -Then she slammed the offender down upon -the bed, and set her bare feet upon the floor -with a thud that betokened no happy morning -spirit. Oh, for those luxurious days at college -when a closed transom and an “engaged” -sign upon the door insured sufficient slumber -after a night of school-girl dissipation! Not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -since the nightmare of housekeeping had -attacked her rest, two months before, had -“Babbie the Nap-kin,” as she was jocularly -known at college, had enough sleep. This -starting the day with heavy eyes, and body -that sighed for rest, was a new thing. How -had her mother done it, all these years? -Probably as she, Barbara, was doing it now;—there -was no one else to share it with -her.</p> - -<p>The same old routine,—Barbara wearily -went over it: Unlock the doors, open the -windows; light the fire, put the kettle on, take -the food out of the ice-box, skim the milk, -grind the coffee, make the toast, set the table, -rouse the sleepers. Every one of the mornings -in the year her mother had done it, or superintended -the doing of it. Three hundred and -sixty-five mornings, for twenty-three years. -8395 times! Barbara shuddered.</p> - -<p>It was hot and stuffy downstairs. The chairs -were set about at untidy angles, and the sun -blazed in fiercely at the window. The kitchen -door-knob was sticky to the touch, and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -bold cockroach ran across the back porch as -she opened the door. Was this summer hotter -and more disagreeable than usual, or was -it possible that Mrs. Grafton had been responsible -for the cool, shaded rooms and the fresh -morning air that had always greeted Barbara -when she arrived upon the scene of -action? For the third time in her experience -the girl considered herself with misgiving. -Was it possible that housekeeping was a -science, instead of merely an occupation,—to -be learned by study, and experiment, -and experience, just like philosophy? Was -it even possible that she, Barbara Grafton, -called “The Shark” at college, was, for the -first time in her life, to fail miserably in a -“course”?</p> - -<p>Dr. Grafton and David were the only members -of the family who responded to the -breakfast-bell. The doctor drank his under-done -coffee and ate his over-done toast without -comment; the small boy bent contentedly -over a bowl of bread and milk. Barbara -herself ate nothing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, girl?” asked her -father. “Aren’t you well?”</p> - -<p>“I’m all right, only not hungry.”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid you’re working too hard. I -can’t have you losing your appetite and -looking like a ghost. Don’t you hear of a -cook?”</p> - -<p>Barbara shook her head.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid we’ll have to make other sort -of arrangement, then. Perhaps Mrs. Clemens -will take us all to board until we hear of some -help. I’ll try to see her to-day. I don’t mind -the meals,—my stomach is proof against -anything!—but I can’t have you sick.”</p> - -<p>Her father laid a tender hand on her shoulder, -and gave her a playful little pat as he -left the room. But Barbara felt anything but -playful. Her eyes flashed, and her lips set in -a hard, bitter line. “My stomach is proof -against anything!” Such a stupid joke,—such -a cruel bit of pleasantry! There were -unshed tears in her voice, as well as her eyes, -as she went to the stairway and called up, -crossly: “Jack, Cecil—ia!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> - -<p>There was no answer. Repeated calls -brought forth an angry response from Gassy, -and a lazy one from Jack.</p> - -<p>“Breakfast is all over. If you’re not down -in five minutes, there’ll be nothing for you; -I’m not going to let my dishes stand all -morning!”</p> - -<p>Gassy deigned no answer. Dangerously -near the time-limit, Jack appeared.</p> - -<p>“The wind seems to be from the east this -morning,” he remarked casually.</p> - -<p>Barbara did not answer.</p> - -<p>“Was there anything special requiring my -attendance at this witching hour of the -morn?”</p> - -<p>“The lawn-mower,” said his sister, sharply.</p> - -<p>“Ah, I thought it must be a telegram or -a fire,—judging from your agonized voice.”</p> - -<p>“If it <i>had</i> been a fire, you would have had -to be roused! When you haven’t an earthly -thing to do about the house, Jack, I do think -that you might get up in time for breakfast.”</p> - -<p>“You have some new theories since you -began housekeeping. I have some faint recollections<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -about your being the last man -in the house to rise, a few weeks ago. I’m -sorry, though, I overslept, Barb. I got up the -minute you called.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">I roused me from my slumbers,</div> -<div class="verse">I hied me from my bed.</div> -<div class="verse">If I had known what breakfast was,</div> -<div class="verse">I would have slept, instead.</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="unindent">Excuse me for turning up my trousers. The -coffee seems to be somewhat muddy.”</p> - -<p>The storm that had been threatening all -the morning came at last. College dignity -was forgotten, and Barbara became a cross, -over-worked, over-heated child, with a strong -sense of grievance.</p> - -<p>“Jack Grafton, you are a lazy, selfish, inconsiderate -<i>beast!</i> If you had to do anything -but <i>eat</i> the meals, you wouldn’t -criticise them so sharply. You <i>know</i> I’m -doing the best I can,—you know it!—and -it’s so hot, and there’s so much work—”</p> - -<p>David’s serious brown eyes looked reproach -at his older brother.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, Barb,” said Jack, penitently.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -“I exaggerated about the coffee,—it’s not -muddy, only riley. You mustn’t get so fussed -up about things that are said in fun. You -always <i>used</i> to be able to take a joke. As for -the grass, I’ll hie me hence at once. It needs -a cutting as badly as Gassy’s hair.”</p> - -<p>In spite of herself, Barbara smiled at the -comparison. “Poor Cecilia,” she sighed. “I -don’t know what on earth to do with that -hair of hers. It is so stiff and rebellious -that it won’t lie smooth, and yet so thin and -straight that it won’t fluff out, like other -children’s. I want her to have it cut, but she -objects, and pins her faith to that row of curl-papers -that makes her look like a Circassian -Lady. It is such an ugly shade of red, too. If -the child only knew how she looked—”</p> - -<p>“She’d never have another happy moment,” -interrupted Jack, pushing back his coffee-cup. -“Well, to work, to work! My, it looks hot -out there in the sunshine!”</p> - -<p>An hour later, Barbara raised a flushed face -from the ironing-board to greet the Vegetable -Man. The Vegetable Man was fat and red,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -and wheezed as he walked. He was an old -patient of the doctor’s, and his bi-weekly trips -to the Grafton house were partially of a social -nature. His face wore the blank expression of -a sheet of sticky fly-paper, and he was equally -hard to get rid of. He sat down on one of -the kitchen chairs and fanned himself with his -hat.</p> - -<p>“This is a scorcher!” he remarked.</p> - -<p>No one appreciated the truth of this statement -more strongly than Barbara. But she -feared the result of an enthusiastic response -to the Vegetable Man. “Yes,” she assented. -“It is.”</p> - -<p>“Ninety-three, accordin’ to the official -thermometer on the weather bureau’s porch. -My thermometer’s three degrees higher, an’ -when I’m out in the sun, I believe mine’s -right. Even the guv’ment’s likely to make -mistakes on a day like this.”</p> - -<p>Barbara nodded.</p> - -<p>“Want any vegetables this morning?”</p> - -<p>“No, I have already ordered my meals -to-day.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Got some nice corn out there in my -wagon. An’ some prime cauliflower.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want either, to-day.”</p> - -<p>“All right; only you know you save money -by buyin’ from me instead of the grocery-store. -Your ma would tell you that, if she wuz -here. How <i>is</i> your ma?”</p> - -<p>“Getting better, slowly.”</p> - -<p>“That’s good; give her my respects when -you write. Leander Hopkins’s respects, an’ -hopes you will soon be in your accustomed -health again. How are you gettin’ on while -she’s gone? Are you just helpin’ in the -kitchen, or are you without?”</p> - -<p>“Without?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, without.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand what you mean, Mr. -Hopkins.”</p> - -<p>“Why, without a gurrl—a kitchen gurrl.”</p> - -<p>“We have no cook at present. Do you -know where I can get one?”</p> - -<p>“No, I can’t say as I do. Gurrls are pretty -scarce in kitchens, nowadays, though there -seems to be plenty of them in parlors. Maybe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -my Libbie would come in and help you out, -though she ain’t never worked out, regular.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, would she?” exclaimed Barbara.</p> - -<p>“Can’t say fer sure. I’ll ast her when I go -home. She’s got steady company, now,—he’s -a brakeman on the Southern Limited,—an’ he -always gits back fer Sunday night. I dunno -as she’d like to engage herself fer Sunday -nights. But I’ll ast her. You ain’t got that -waist sprinkled enough; it’s too dry to iron -well.”</p> - -<p>Barbara only thumped her iron a little -harder.</p> - -<p>“Don’t like to be told, do ye? Guess you -must be a little like my wife,—set in your -ways. I know a good deal about ironin’; -seen the women-folks do it fer thirty years.”</p> - -<p>“You must have had a good deal of time -to sit and watch.”</p> - -<p>“Wal, no, not so much as you might think; -they’s a good deal of work on my place. I’ve -been sickly, though, a good bit of my life, -an’ had to sit by an’ let others do it. I know, -Miss Barb’ry, that I’ve got the reputation of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -bein’ lazy, but it ain’t true: I ain’t lazy; I don’t -mind workin’, but I don’t like to <i>have</i> to work. -That’s what I like about vegetablin’: I can -rest a little as I go along.”</p> - -<p>“You are fortunate!”</p> - -<p>There was a pause as the stubborn iron -squeaked its way over the half-dry linen.</p> - -<p>“Wal, I guess I must be goin’. You -wouldn’t like no egg-plant, would ye?”</p> - -<p>“No, I think not.”</p> - -<p>“Shell I bring in a little pie-plant before I -go? Ye might change your mind if you was -to see it.”</p> - -<p>“No, I won’t trouble you.”</p> - -<p>“No trouble at all, even if it is a hot day. -You’re sure you don’t want it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’m sure.”</p> - -<p>“Wal, good-day, then. Don’t fergit my -respects to your ma.”</p> - -<p>Out of the kitchen door waddled Mr. -Hopkins. In at the same door he waddled a -few seconds later. “Hate to int’rupt ye, Miss -Barb’ry,” he said mysteriously, “but jest -look a’ here.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What is it?” inquired Barbara, suspiciously, -fearing she was being enticed to the -vegetable wagon.</p> - -<p>“That’s what I don’t know,” said Mr. -Hopkins.</p> - -<p>The Vegetable Man led the way around the -walk at the side of the house. He stopped at -the turn, where the syringa and the lilac mingled -their branches in a leafy roof. The sun -and the leaves made a checkerboard of light -and shade below, and here in the dancing -flecks of sunshine lay a grotesque little figure, -asleep. It was Gassy, but such a sadly changed -Gassy! Reckless hands and a pair of scissors -had worked havoc with the hair that had been -“too stiff to lie smooth, and too thin to fluff.” -Except for the crown of the head, where a few -locks stood erect, like faithful sentinels on a -battle-swept field, the scalp was almost as bare -as a billiard ball. Not content with devastating -her enemy, Gassy had concealed the last sign -of the hated color by covering the remains with -a coating of black. Perspiration and tears -had aided its extension, and two streaks of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -the dark fluid had found their way down her -cheeks. There were traces of recent crying -about the closed eyes, and a damp handkerchief -was tightly clutched in one of the thin -little hands.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 505px;"> -<img src="images/i-201.jpg" width="505" height="500" alt="woman kneeling by woman under bush; someone in background watching" /> -<div class="caption">SUCH A SADLY CHANGED GASSY</div> -</div> - -<p>Barbara dismissed the Vegetable Man with a -few whispered words of explanation, walking -with him to the gate to insure his departure. -Then she returned to the syringa-bush, and -took the shorn little head in her lap. Gassy -started, and sat erect. For a moment she looked -bewildered; then she remembered, and her -proud little voice said defiantly:—</p> - -<p>“I guess I won’t look like a Circassian -Lady, now!”</p> - -<p>Barbara hesitated; words seemed so futile, -and any explanation was impossible. Then she -did the very best thing, under the circumstances,—caught -the small sister in her arms, -and held her close. Gassy struggled for a second, -then her thin little body relaxed, and the -hot tears drenched Barbara’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“You needn’t think I didn’t know about -my hair, before!” she said fiercely, between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -sobs. “I’ve always hated it, long before I -heard what you and Jack said. But I’ve got -it fixed now. It ain’t stiff, or thin, or red, any -more!”</p> - -<p>Barbara waited until the first shower was -over. “How did you do it, dear?” she asked, -at last.</p> - -<p>“Manicure scissors and liquid blacking,” -said Gassy, with a fresh storm of sobs. “I -don’t care if I <i>do</i> look awful! I looked just as -bad before. Jack said I’d never have another -happy moment if I knew how I looked. And -I do. I’m the ugliest girl in Auburn,—the -very homeliest!”</p> - -<p>Barbara’s quick thoughts flew to the sanitarium -at Chariton. Was it possible that tragedies -like this were of common occurrence -in her mother’s life? It was only a child’s tragedy, -but it was a very real one; and the -tenderest wisdom and the wisest tenderness -were needed to dispel it. Her mind went back -to the sweet lips and the loving arms that -had soothed so many of her own baby griefs. -Housekeeping had been such a small part of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -her mother’s life; was she, Barbara, capable -of being a substitute in a case like this?</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry you heard what we said,” she -replied, tenderly stroking the sticky head. “Of -course you know that we always exaggerate -when we joke,—Jack and I,—and we said -what we did in fun. Your hair isn’t as pretty -now as it will be when you get a little older; -then it will turn dark,—red hair always does,—and -you may have real auburn, which is -the prettiest shade in the world.”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t just my hair,—it’s all of me,” -sobbed Gassy. “I’m so dang homely!”</p> - -<p>Barbara laughed, a merry, hearty laugh, -that carried more comfort than a million words -to the aching little heart. “You blessed -chicken! You’re not so homely.”</p> - -<p>“But I want to be pretty like you; not -skinny, and awkward, and tight little pig-tails -of hair! I’d just love to shake curls out of -my neck, the way the other girls do.”</p> - -<p>“Well, not <i>every</i>body can have curly hair; -I’m not that lucky, either. But I was thinner -than you when I was your age, and far more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -awkward. You’ll grow fatter in a year or two. -And in the meantime, dear, be glad of the -pretty things about yourself,—your clear, -wide-open eyes, your dainty little ears, your -high-arched instep. You have a very sweet -mouth, too, when you are happy.”</p> - -<p>Gassy snuggled a shade closer to her sister. -“I like you, Barbara,” she said, her proud -little voice strangely softened.</p> - -<p>“I know you do, dear. And I love <i>you</i>, so -much that I want you to like yourself. Don’t -think about how you look; you’re always -pretty when you’re merry. Let’s go in and -shampoo that head of yours. You won’t mind -it short during this hot weather, and it will -probably grow in thicker and darker because -of this cutting.”</p> - -<p>The half-ironed waist had dried when they -returned to the house, and Barbara, as she re-sprinkled -the garment and laid it back in the -ironing basket, was reminded of her frequent -admonitions to her mother about “systematizing -the housework.” “A mother is a composite -of cook, laundress, seamstress, waitress,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -nurse, and kindergartner,” she said to herself. -“And yet that isn’t what keeps her busiest; -it’s the unforeseen happenings, and the interruptions, -that eat up the time. I don’t wonder -she never finished her work. What next, -I’d like to know?”</p> - -<p>Her wish was soon gratified by the appearance -of Jack at the door. “Gee whiz! but this -day is a scorcher,” said the boy, mopping his -forehead with his handkerchief, as he threw -himself upon the lounge in the next room. -“It is ninety in the shade in the yard,—that -is, it would be if there was any shade to get -under. If I ever said anything derogatory unto -the snow-shovel, I take it all back. Here’s a -letter, Barb; mail-man left it.”</p> - -<p>Barbara, reaching for the envelope, stumbled -over the prostrate form of David, who -lay on his stomach on the floor, reading his -well-worn copy of the “Greek Heroes.”</p> - -<p>“Goodness, David, do get out of the way! -There isn’t room to step in this house when -you lie on the floor. And please don’t read -aloud until I finish this letter.” She tore open<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -the envelope, and her eyes eagerly ran over the -words, as her mind hungrily took them up:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<div class="right"><span class="smcap">Vassar College</span>, August 6, 1907.</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Grafton</span>,—It gives us much -pleasure to notify you that the Eastman Scholarship -will fall into your hands this year. Miss Culver, who -ranked slightly above you in the competitive examination, -writes us that circumstances make it impossible -for her to enjoy its advantages. You, as second -in rank of scholarship, fall heir to her place and her -honors.</p> - -<p>We heartily congratulate you upon the attainment -of what you so richly deserve, and beg that you will -notify us of your acceptance this week. It is so late in -the season now that an immediate decision is necessary.</p> - -<div class="sig"> -<span style="margin-right: 16em;">Cordially yours,</span><br /><span style="margin-right: 6em;">Eastman Scholarship Committee,</span><br /><span class="smcap">E. C. Bedford</span>, <i>Chairman</i>.<br /></div></div> - -<p>Jack, glancing up from the lounge, caught -a glimpse of Barbara’s face, “What’s the matter? -Is mother worse?” he demanded, sitting -bolt upright on the sofa.</p> - -<p>“No,—oh, no. It’s just a letter from college,” -said Barbara. She got up from her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -chair suddenly, and made her way back to -the kitchen.</p> - -<p>“If you’re through with it, may I read aloud -now?” called David; but his sister did not -hear him. She stepped inside the pantry and -sat down on a tin cracker-box to think it -over.</p> - -<p>The Eastman Scholarship! The highest -honor which Vassar had to offer, and which -carried with it a year of post-graduate study, -had been the ambition of Barbara’s life. Nobody -but herself could dream what that letter -meant to her. Nobody but herself ever suspected -how bitter the disappointment had -been the spring before, when Miss Culver, -who was less brilliant, but more of a student -than Barbara, had taken the scholarship almost -out of her hands. Every one in college -had expected her to win it, and though she -had been outwardly dubious about her prospects, -she had been inwardly self-confident. -It had taken courage to offer congratulations -to Miss Culver, on that dreadful day when the -decision had been announced. <i>Everybody</i>—that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -is, everybody but the faculty—knew -that it belonged, by right, to her. She had -made light of her defeat at home,—she had -never dared think much about it, herself,—and -nobody had suspected how deep a tragedy -it was.</p> - -<p>And now the chance had come, <i>now</i>, when -everything in the world was upside down; -when a sick mother and a forlorn household -needed her; when an empty kitchen called -her; and when a pair of hands, awkward -though they were, meant as much to her family -as a brilliant brain meant to her college. -Barbara closed her eyes, and tried to think.</p> - -<p>David, in the next room, had taken up his -reading again, at the Isle of the Sirens:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“And all things stayed around and listened; the gulls -sat in white lines along the rocks; on the beach great -seals lay basking and kept time with lazy heads; while -silver shoals of fish came up to hearken, and whispered -as they broke the shining calm. The wind overhead -hushed his whistling as he shepherded his clouds -toward the west; and the clouds stood in mid-blue, -and listened dreaming, like a flock of golden sheep.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And as the heroes listened, the oars fell from their -hands and their heads drooped on their breasts, and -they closed their heavy eyes; and they dreamed of -bright, still gardens, and of slumbers under murmuring -pines, till all of their toil seemed foolishness, -and they thought of their renown no more.”</p></div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 410px;"> -<img src="images/i-211.jpg" width="410" height="500" alt="Barbrasa sitting outside by gate" /> -<div class="caption">BARBARA SANK DOWN WEARILY</div> -</div> - -<p>“I’ve been asleep,” thought Barbara, bitterly, -“asleep and dreaming.”</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Then Medea clapped her hands together, and -cried, ‘Sing louder, Orpheus; sing a bolder strain; -wake up these hapless sluggards, or none of them -will see the land of Hellas more.’</p> - -<p>“Then Orpheus lifted his harp, and crashed his -cunning hand across the strings, and his music and -his voice rang like a trumpet through the still evening -air: into the air it rushed like thunder, till the rocks -rang, and the sea, and into their souls it rushed like -wine, till all hearts beat fast within their breasts.”</p></div> - -<p>“Every dream I had at college—every -hope, every aspiration—has gone,” interrupted -Barbara’s thoughts. “Surely I left -school with plenty of ambition. But here I -am, a drudge of a housekeeper, and a poor -one at that! I can’t even cook a meal or iron<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -a waist. And I haven’t the chance to do anything -else, with mother sick. Oh, I would like -to! I would, I would! Because this is my -last opportunity. If I don’t take this, <i>I</i> shall -never, never, see the land of Hellas more.”</p> - -<p>David lost his place in the story. But the -new page he turned was just as sweet to him, -and he went on reading in his child’s voice, -made hoarse by hay fever, and yet sweet with -love of the words:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“And a dream came to Æetes, and filled his heart -with fear. He thought he saw a shining star which -fell into his daughter’s lap; and that Medea his daughter -took it gladly, and carried it to the river-side and -cast it in, and there the whirling river bore it down, -and out into the Euxine Sea.”</p></div> - -<p>It was nine o’clock that evening before the -last dish was washed, David’s throat-wash -prepared, Gassy’s head anointed, and a letter -written. After these things were done, Barbara -went out to the mail-box. She posted her letter, -and came back through the moonlight that -seemed to heat the breathless night. Mosquitoes -hummed about the porch, a cricket<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -creaked in the grass, and the voices of innumerable -locusts nicked the silence of the evening. -The house was dark and lonely, and still. -Barbara sank down on the porch, wearily, and -laid her head against the railing.</p> - -<p>“I’ve cast in my star,” she said to herself.</p> - -<p>The homely words of the Vegetable Man -came back to her with new meaning.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it’s true, I <i>am</i> without,” she added; -“that’s just the word for it!”</p> - -<p>She put both hands before her eyes, and -burst into tears.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER X<br /> - -<small>THE VEGETABLE MAN’S DAUGHTER</small></h2> - - -<div class="blockquot"> -<div class="right"><span class="smcap">Chariton Sanitarium</span>, August 23, 1907.</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear little Daughter</span>,—You don’t know how -nice it is to be able to write a letter all by one’s self. -Dictating a letter to your home people is like eating -by proxy.</p> - -<p>I am getting better every day. Am sleeping without -opiates, and am actually hungry for my meals. -Those trying periods of faintness appear far less -often, and my temperature is so normal that I am -losing prestige with the nurses. It won’t be long now -until I shall be home again.</p> - -<p>I feel guilty every minute I stay away. Those -cheery letters of yours tell only the funny side of -housekeeping, but I know that there is another side, -too, and that inexperience and hot weather and hard -work are a serious combination. It is too big a load -for one pair of shoulders. I was sorry to hear that -the Duchess had gone; she promised so well that I -felt relieved about my motherless children and my -wifeless husband. I hope you will be able to get Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -Hopkins’s daughter. If not, you had better go to the -boarding-house for dinner and supper during the hot -weather.</p> - -<p>How is David? I think of him so often these torrid -days. If his hay fever is bad, he ought to be sent -nearer the lake. Watch him carefully, dear, won’t -you?</p> - -<p>There is little for me to write you. No news is sanitarium -news, and I see no one but my doctor and -nurse and a few people whose illness is the most interesting -thing about them. I live on your letters,—the -dear, funny letters that you must steal time from -recreation to write. I read scraps of them to the doctor -and a few friends I have made here, and they -never fail to ask me daily if I have “heard from the -clever daughter.” The cleverness I knew all about, -long ago, but I am finding out new things every day -about the sweetness and usefulness of that same -daughter. Try to save yourself all you can, dearie. -Why, oh, why, when you were choosing, didn’t you -select a mother that didn’t “prostrate”?</p> - -<p>Kiss the babes for me, and tell your father that I -can’t and won’t stay away much longer. Much love -from</p> - -<div class="sig"><span class="smcap">Mother.</span></div></div> - -<p>Barbara read the letter aloud to Gassy on -one of the hottest of the August days. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -she drew the little sister into her arms and -kissed her,—a long-drawn kiss in which was -expressed relief and joy and gratitude. Gassy -understood, and nestled close with a happy -little croon.</p> - -<p>“Won’t it be nice to have her back, Barbara?” -she whispered. “It’s been awful -lonesome without her! If it hadn’t been -for you, I couldn’t have stood it.” Then, -ashamed of her unwonted show of affection, -she drew herself out of her sister’s lap, saying -in her stiff little voice, which had been -heard less frequently of late, “It’s too hot -to kiss!”</p> - -<p>“There’s another letter, too,” said Barbara; -“I don’t know whether I’d better open it or -not. It’s addressed to mother, but I think it -is from Aunt Sarah.”</p> - -<p>Gassy made a grimace. “Better open it, -then. It won’t hold any good news.”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid I must; Aunt Sarah doesn’t -know that mother is away from home. I hope -it isn’t descriptive of any more family broils. -If it is, I shan’t forward it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Prob’ly she’s going to make us a visit,” -said Gassy.</p> - -<p>A horrible foreboding of what Gassy’s prediction -would mean swept over Barbara. It -was succeeded by a still more horrible sensation -as she read the letter:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">My dear Niece</span>,—I am about to start for the shore -on my annual trip, and intend to stop and see you on -the way. I leave here Thursday, and expect to arrive -in Auburn some time Friday. I intended to let you -know before, but I have been very busy attending -to my wardrobe, and have neglected less important -things. You never make much fuss over me when I -come, so I knew I could break the monotony of the -long trip east without inconveniencing you.</p> - -<p>Your last letter said you were not very well. Of -course I regret to hear that, but you cannot expect -me to express sympathy for what is obviously your -own fault. New Thought stands ready to help you, -and until you are willing to accept its teachings, -you cannot hope to have peace of either mind or -body. I shall do my best to convince you of this -when I come.</p> - -<p>I understand that Barbara is with you. I am anxious -to see that college life, of which I never approved,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -has improved her. I shall telegraph you later when -to meet me.</p> - -<div class="sig"> -<span style="margin-right: 6em;">Your affectionate aunt,</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Sarah T. Bossall</span>.<br /> -</div> - -<p>P.S.—I neglected to say that I shall bring Edward’s -boys with me.</p></div> - -<p>Barbara laid down the sheet of paper, and -sat looking at it with troubled eyes.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” asked Gassy.</p> - -<p>“She’s coming, <i>to-morrow!</i>” groaned Barbara; -“and she’s going to bring those awful -grandchildren of hers. That means that one -of us will have to give up a room, and sleep -in the attic. And to-morrow is sweeping-day, -and not a thing baked in the house, and father -away, and David half-sick, and only me to -do the cooking for nine people! And Mrs. -Clemens can’t take us to board; father asked -her before he left.”</p> - -<p>Gassy looked equally disconsolate. “I just -hate those Bossall boys,” she said; “they -fight all the time, and grab the best pieces, -and call you red-head, and brag about living -in the city. Archie’s the biggest cry-baby I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -ever saw, and Nelson’s an awful liar, and that -Freddy hasn’t even sense enough to keep his -stockings up; they’re always in rolls about -his ankles.”</p> - -<p>Barbara listened unhearingly. “Aunt Sarah -always expects to be ‘entertained.’ And she’s -so particular that I just dread to have her -come inside the house. During this hot -weather I’ve been letting things go a little, -and I know she’ll comment on the way they -look. It doesn’t seem as though I <i>could</i> -do any more work than I have been doing! -What <i>shall</i> I do, Gassy?”</p> - -<p>“We might go out and see the Vegetable -Man’s daughter,” suggested Gassy, flattered -at being taken into consultation.</p> - -<p>“I think that’s the only thing left,” agreed -Barbara; “ask Sam to harness Maud S., and -I’ll put on my hat while you’re gone. You -may go with me, if you want to.”</p> - -<p>Grassy looked wistful. “I s’pose if I stayed, -I could pare the potatoes for you,” she said -hesitatingly.</p> - -<p>“You dear little chicken, you,” said Barbara.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -“Never mind the potatoes; we can fix -them together when we come back. I’d rather -have you with me, now.”</p> - -<p>Maud S. jogged slowly along the road that -led to the Vegetable Man’s. It was a winding -road that twisted its way uphill like a yellow -shaving curl. Midsummer lay heavy on the -farm-lands stretching away on either side. -The corn-fields gleamed yellow in the sunshine, -the locusts filled the air with their incessant -drone, and goldenrod and wild asters, -covered with a veil of dust, flaunted in every -corner of the rail-fences. Barbara loved those -rail-fences, built in the days when time was -the farmer’s chief asset, and now rapidly giving -way to the ugly, prosaic barbed-wire that -is so symbolic of the present age of commercialism. -Something of this thought she -expressed to Gassy.</p> - -<p>“It keeps the cows out of the corn, though,” -was the small sister’s response.</p> - -<p>Barbara mused over the words as she urged -on Maud S. They, too, were characteristic of -this Western country, the new world that was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -so busy at money-making that it had no time -to think of beauty; the world that lived alone -to keep the cows out of the corn. She loved -the long, rich stretches of rolling prairie lands; -she was proud of the miles of waving yellow -corn-fields; at college she had felt a tender -sort of thrill every time she claimed ownership -with the middle West. But planted in -that same prairie land, like a stalk of corn, -herself, her beauty-loving soul revolted at its -materialism, and pride in its productiveness -seemed a sort of vulgar greed. The beautiful -middle West was peopled by men with souls -so dead, that to keep the cows out of the corn -was their ambition in life. Live-stock and -grain bounded their existence on four sides. -Was it possible that people could grow so -deaf to the voice of loveliness that a midsummer -day could fail to speak of beauty to them? -The strident clatter of a harvesting-machine -seemed to assent to the question.</p> - -<p>At the top of the hill, Maud S. stopped for -a rest. And looking down from the summit, -Barbara was answered. Into the hazy, blue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -distance stretched the corn-fields, so far away -that the tasseled tops became but an indistinct, -waving sea. Eyes could not see where the -sea ended and the hills began; the two met, -blended, melted into each other; every sign -of industry was a part of the wonderful landscape, -and utilitarianism became beauty itself.</p> - -<p>At the third curl of the shaving stood the -Vegetable Man’s large red barn. Back of it, -and hidden from the road, stood his small -white house.</p> - -<p>“I should think his wife would rather live in -the stable,” said Gassy, as the two girls went -up the narrow walk with the grass growing -untidily through the broken planks.</p> - -<p>Leander Hopkins himself answered their -knock at the door, and to him Barbara explained -her errand.</p> - -<p>“Wal, I dunno. She’s got steady company -now, and her mind seems to be set on him. -She’d like to do it fer yer ma, though, I’m -sure. Ye’d best ast her.”</p> - -<p>He led the way through an uncarpeted hall -into the kitchen, where a tired-faced woman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -and a slatternly girl were at work. Barbara -cast a quick look at the latter, and her heart -sank. The Vegetable Man’s daughter was -thirty-odd years old. She was thin and sallow -and stupid-looking. Her eyes were crossed, -and a pair of large glasses, apparently worn -to hide the defect, succeeded only in making -it more prominent. She listened to Barbara’s -recital with little show of interest.</p> - -<p>“I dunno,” she said finally, “as there’s any -need I should work out.”</p> - -<p>Again Barbara offered inducements.</p> - -<p>“Do you let your girls have company?” -asked the Vegetable Man’s daughter, with a -simper.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, certainly,” answered Barbara.</p> - -<p>“Steady company, I mean,” said the girl.</p> - -<p>“If they prefer that kind,” said Barbara, -smiling in spite of herself.</p> - -<p>“And all their evenings?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied Barbara.</p> - -<p>“And Sunday afternoons to supper?”</p> - -<p>Barbara hesitated. “Yes,” she agreed, -finally.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, I dunno,” said the girl. The tired-faced -woman put in a word:—</p> - -<p>“You might go and help her out a bit, -Libbie. Then you could buy those white shoes -you’ve been wanting.”</p> - -<p>“Well, maybe,” assented the girl. “When -do you want me?”</p> - -<p>“Right now,” said Barbara.</p> - -<p>Ten minutes later, Mr. Hopkins accompanied -the three girls to the gate, lending his -presence while Barbara untied the horse and -cramped the buggy. “Good-by, Libbie,” he -said; “write us frequent, and don’t work too -hard. Give my regards to yer pa, Miss Barb’ry. -I ain’t never forgot the time he pulled -me out of noomonia. There ain’t nothing too -big fer me to do fer him; tell him to come -out some time, and pick gooseberries.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Great-Aunt Sarah reached Auburn the next -day. No telegram had heralded the hour of -her coming, and consequently there was no -one at the station to meet her on arrival. At -noon on Friday, while Barbara was convincing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -the Vegetable Man’s daughter that steak -should be broiled instead of fried, a carriage -rolled up to the door. Peanuts Barker, still in -Banker Willowby’s top hat, deposited a trunk -on the front walk, and a stout lady, with two -methodical puffs of shiny black hair in under -her bonnet, and three small boys dismounted.</p> - -<p>At the sound of the wheels there was a general -scattering of the clan. Gassy, whose hatred -for Aunt Sarah was general, and for the boys -specific, retired to the coal-cellar, David hurried -to put his dear books out of reach of -marauding hands, and Jack meanly abandoned -the scene of action for an upstairs window. -Barbara and the Kid were the only -members of the family to greet the guests.</p> - -<p>“How do you do, my dears?” said Aunt -Sarah, majestically. “I was surprised to find -no one at the station when I arrived. I am not -accustomed to the care of my own baggage. -Barbara, how sallow you are! Don’t set my -trunk down there, sir; my fee to you includes -payment for carrying it upstairs. Archie, let -the dressing-case alone; I don’t want to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -to speak to you about it again! I suppose -I am to have the east room, as usual. I hope -the morning light won’t wake me up at day-break.”</p> - -<p>“The same old Great Sahara!” whispered -Jack, appearing in the hall to shoulder the -luggage. “Age cannot wither, or custom stale -her infinite arrive-ity. If I should hear that -voice in the heart of the Hartz Mountains, I -should say, ’Tis she! ’Tis she!”</p> - -<p>It was true that the three years that had -passed since aunt and niece had met had done -little to change Aunt Sarah. At the table that -noon, Barbara, who had sacrificed her vegetarian -theories to the comfort of her visitors, -hospitably inquired about the result:—</p> - -<p>“How is your steak, Aunt Sarah?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bossall plied her knife vigorously for -a moment, then replied to her niece’s question -with a single word:—</p> - -<p>“Tough!”</p> - -<p>Barbara’s housekeeping, Jack’s idleness, -Gassy’s disposition, David’s dreaminess, and -the Kid’s table-manners were all criticised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -with impartiality. Even the Vegetable Man’s -daughter was not spared.</p> - -<p>“If that girl were working for <i>me</i>, she -wouldn’t sit up with her young man until half-past -ten o’clock,” she announced, on the second -morning after her arrival.</p> - -<p>She commented on the hardness of her bed, -the crack in her window, the quality of her -food; Barbara’s theories, the doctor’s weakness -for charity cases, the lack of economy in the -household, and the extravagance of sanitarium -life, all came in for her condemnation. -Barbara’s temper was held by a single airy -thread, that threatened daily to snap, and was -kept in place only by exertion of much will-power, -and the comforting thought that Aunt -Sarah’s visit could not last forever.</p> - -<p>“Edward’s children” had inherited some of -the most striking of their grandmother’s characteristics. -Moreover, added to her aggressiveness -and her domineering qualities, they possessed -a fertility of resource and an ingenuity -for mischief that filled the Kid with envy, Barbara -with horror, and Jack with amusement.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> - -<p>“They have imbibed some of their beloved -grandmother’s theories,” said Jack to Barbara, -on the third day of the visit. “Talk about the -‘New Thought’! Those kids have more new -and original thoughts in ten seconds than her -whole sect has in ten years. What idea do -you suppose they conceived this morning? I -came up the back walk in time to see a bundle -of white linen dangling in the air at the barn -window. Those little fiends were up in the loft -working the hay pulley, and hanging from -the rope below was the youngest Wemott -baby, the hook of the rope caught through -the band of its little apron. There was only -a button between that infant and eternity -when I rescued it.”</p> - -<p>“They are the worst children I ever saw,” -said Barbara. “Cecilia is hard to manage, but -she is as nothing compared with the Bossall -boys. You can’t appeal to their better natures, -for there is nothing there to appeal to. And -as for punishing them, I don’t believe that they -are afraid of anything in this whole world.”</p> - -<p>“Except Gassy,” suggested Jack.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, they seem to hold her in wholesome -respect I can’t understand the cause of their -consideration for her, unless it is fear. Cecilia -isn’t mighty in the flesh, but her tongue is a -power.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The reason for this respect came to light -the next day. It <i>was</i> fear: but fear of something -besides Gassy’s tongue. Before daylight, -Aunt Sarah creaked her way up the -attic stairs to the little, hot room in which -Barbara had slept since the arrival of the -guests. Aunt Sarah was addicted to black -silk nightgowns, and the long, dark robe, a -lighted candle, and curling-pins, rolled so -tightly that they lifted her eyebrows, gave her -a decidedly Lady Macbethian appearance.</p> - -<p>“Are you awake, Barbara?” she inquired, -in an angry stage whisper.</p> - -<p>By that time Barbara could truthfully answer -that she was. “What is it?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry to disturb you,” said Aunt -Sarah, in a voice that betokened anything but -regret. “But I am in such a state of mind that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -even New Thought fails to calm me. I was -never so insulted in my life as by the treatment -that has been accorded me and mine -while in my own niece’s home.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean, Aunt Sarah?” cried -Barbara, now thoroughly aroused.</p> - -<p>“I mean just this: Cecilia has been according -Edward’s children a system of torture -that has nearly robbed them of their sanity.”</p> - -<p>Even in her worry and bewilderment, a -wicked thought, reflecting upon the <i>present</i> -mental condition of Edward’s children flashed -through Barbara’s mind. But she checked the -desire to give utterance to it.</p> - -<p>Aunt Sarah set down the candle, and faced -Barbara severely. “I was aroused from sleep -a few moments ago by a noise in the next -room,” she said. “It sounded like a scream -from Archie, and I sat up in bed and listened. -I heard a deep voice in the children’s room, -saying, ‘I am the Holy Ghost,’ and other -irreverent things which I cannot, at this moment, -recall. I knew that no burglar would stop -for that announcement, so I quietly opened the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -door and looked in. A figure in a sheet was -standing between the two beds, with arms -outstretched over the two boys.”</p> - -<p>“What!” exclaimed Barbara.</p> - -<p>“It was Cecilia, of course,” continued Aunt -Sarah. “The dear little lads were speechless -with fright and horror, and that bad child was -claiming to be the Holy Ghost, and threatening -all sorts of terrible things to them if they -tore David’s books again. I sent her back to -bed at once, and tried to reassure the boys, -but they were in a sad state of terror. They -tell me that this has gone on from night to -night. They know, of course, that it <i>is</i> Cecilia, -but they are timid by nature, and they have -been in a pitiable frame of mind. I have noticed, -ever since our arrival, that they have -been slightly unmanageable, and this explains -it all; New Thought cannot work against a -supernatural fear. Now, the question is, what -are you going to do with Gassy?”</p> - -<p>Wicked Barbara suppressed a chuckle as -she debated. “Well, I think I’ll let her sleep -till morning, Aunt Sarah,” she said aloud,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -soberly. “Then I’ll see what I can do with -her. It was very wrong of her, of course, -and I’m sorry that you and the boys have -been put to so much distress. It isn’t like -Cecilia to be cruel.”</p> - -<p>“It is exactly what I should expect of her,” -was the sharp reply. “Cecilia I like the least -of any of my niece’s children. She is <i>naturally</i> -an inhuman sort of child, without the slightest -trace of affection for any one; and then she -has always been allowed to have her own way, -until she is most unmanageable. Elizabeth -and your father have spoiled all of their children, -but the result is most obvious in Cecilia. -She ought to be severely dealt with for a trick -of this kind. Reverence, if not simple humanity, -should have deterred her. But none of -you children seem to have any reverence for -anything. I think I shall speak to Cecilia, -myself, this morning.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, please don’t, Aunt Sarah,” exclaimed -Barbara, impulsively. “You know how sensitive -Cecilia is, and how hard to handle! -I think that if I talk to her first, I can make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> -her sorry for frightening the boys. But she -doesn’t li—”</p> - -<p>Aunt Sarah took up her candle with as -much dignity as it is possible to assume in curling-pins. -“I understand that Cecilia doesn’t -like me,” she said stiffly, “and I assure you -that the feeling is mutual. I shall not speak -to her, of course, if you prefer that I shall hold -no communication with her. But I shall write -your mother a full account of the whole affair -as soon as I leave, which will be this morning, -if possible. I must say, Barbara, that I never -expected that you would condone wrongdoing, -even in your own household. I shall -telephone for an expressman to take my trunk -to the station at ten this morning. If there was -ever a home and a family where New Thought -is needed, this is the one!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Aunt Sarah was as good as her word. During -the entire breakfast hour, she deigned not -so much as a glance at her guilty great-niece. -Upon her departure, she ostentatiously kissed -every other member of the family, including<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -Jack, who presented a cheek gingerly for the -salute. Barbara accompanied her to the station, -but she was not to be mollified, and -the farewell was enlivened only by Edward’s -boys, whose parting act was to open a coop -of chickens in the Auburn baggage-room, and -give the fowls their freedom. Barbara, as well -as the station-master, heaved a sigh of relief -as her relatives boarded the train.</p> - -<p>Upon her return to the disorderly home, -the big sister sought out the little one. It was -hard to find fault with the punishment that had -been meted out to Edward’s boys, but it must -be done. Barbara took the small girl on her lap. -“Why did you do it, Chicken?” she asked.</p> - -<p>Gassy’s lips set in a decided line. “Because -they deserved it,” she said. “I ain’t one bit -sorry, Barbara Grafton, not one single bit! -Those are the meanest, sneakiest boys that -ever lived! They didn’t dare torment Jack,—he -was too big; they were afraid of me because -I could beat them running. So they took it -all out on David and the Kid, ’specially David. -He ain’t strong enough to fight, and, besides,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -he’s too gentle; and they knew it, and took -advantage of it all the time. First they used -to hit him, and tease him, but he’d never answer -back,—just look at them kind of sad -and slow, like Mary, Queen of Scots, on the -scaffold. And that spoiled all their fun; the -scratch-back kind are the only ones who are -ever really teased, you know.”</p> - -<p>Barbara put this bit of philosophy away for -future reference.</p> - -<p>“But after awhile,” the child continued, -“they found out that it hurt him lots worse -to meddle with his books, so they did that, -just to worry him. You <i>know</i> how he loves -that King Arthur book of his! Yesterday they -cut out every single picture in it with their -jackknives,—just hacked it all up! You can’t -<i>hurt</i> those boys,—they’re too tough; but -they’re awful ’fraid-cats, and you can scare -’em easy. So I just put on a sheet, and went -in and warned ’em that they dasn’t touch -David’s books again. He cries every time -they do, and that makes his hay fever worse.”</p> - -<p>“But, dear,” Barbara said quietly, “it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -wasn’t nice to do it. They were in your own -house, you know—”</p> - -<p>“We didn’t invite them,” interrupted -Gassy.</p> - -<p>“And, besides, you must never scare people. -It’s a very dangerous thing to do. If they had -been frightened into brain fever, you would -never forgive yourself. And one thing more, -dear, I don’t like your calling yourself the -Holy Ghost.”</p> - -<p>“That was because my sheet was torn. -The hole-y ghost, you know.”</p> - -<p>“I know, but it isn’t a reverent thing to -say.”</p> - -<p>“But, Barbara, it doesn’t seem wicked to -me to say that. I never could even imagine -the Holy Ghost. It just seems like words, and -nothing else. Every time I go to church they -talk about the Holy Ghost, and the Spirit, -and the Life Infinite, and I can’t understand -’em. Even Jehovah sounds awful big and far -off. But when they say Jesus,—Baby Jesus, -I mean, or Little Boy Jesus, or Man Jesus,—that -is easy and sweet. I always like best to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -think of Him that way; not like a God, so far -off, and with so many things to manage, that -it’s hard to believe that He cares, but like -a man, that made mistakes, and had to try -over again.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Barbara, understandingly.</p> - -<p>“I like to think,” went on Gassy, “that He -did just the same things that we do, and loved -the same things, and wanted the same things. -It wouldn’t help me any to have Him be <i>glad</i> -to die and go up in a chariot of fire, with -people hollering, like Elijah did. But it does -help me to know that He <i>wanted</i> to live, just -like I do, and cried about leaving everything, -at first, and then was big and brave enough -to stand it. You know I wouldn’t be irreverent -about <i>Him</i>, Barbara!”</p> - -<p>“No, and it would hurt you to have any one -else irreverent about Him. And that is why I -don’t like to have you say what you did about -the Holy Ghost; you may hurt some one else.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I won’t do it again; that is, I won’t -be irreverent,” promised Gassy. “But about -scaring them, Barbara Grafton, you mustn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -try to make me be sorry about that, for I’d be -telling a lie if I said I was. They deserved it, -and there wasn’t any other way of making -them let David alone. I’m glad I frightened -some of the bad out of them.”</p> - -<p>And with this Barbara was forced to be -satisfied.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The path was straightened for Barbara after -the departure of her guests. The Vegetable -Man’s daughter was incompetent, but she was -good-natured and cheerful. Her shrill soprano -voice rose at all hours of the day in the request -to be waltzed around again, Willie, -around, and around, and around. Her “Steady -Company” made regular calls at the kitchen -every evening that he was off his run, and sat -on the back porch, with his feet on the railing -and his pipe in his mouth, scarcely uttering -a word during the call. The Vegetable Man’s -daughter proved to be a fluent conversationalist, -and judging from the scraps of sound that -floated around to the front porch, now and -then, the evening visits seemed to consist of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -monologue, sandwiched in between a kiss of -greeting and one of parting. Promptly at half-past -ten the Steady Company would withdraw, -and the Vegetable Man’s daughter would -renew her request to be waltzed around again, -Willie, all the way up the back stairs.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it was the thought of her absent -lover that prevented her success as a cook, for -it was certain that the day after one of his -calls the bread was apt to be unsalted, the -napkins forgotten, and the milk left to sour. -But she was strong and willing, patient with -Barbara’s theories, and fond of the children. -Something of the old-time comfort returned -to the house, and Barbara found time to mingle -with the young people of Auburn, and to -enjoy the first youthful companionship she -had had since her return from college. On -some of these occasions she met Susan, who -greeted her with a stiff smile, in which wistfulness -was scarcely hidden. There was nothing -of regret in Barbara’s cool nod. Susan was -not as necessary to her as she was to Susan, -and in the popularity which came to her as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -readily with the young people at home as at -school, she easily forgot the quiet girl on the -outskirts of the jolly crowd.</p> - -<p>Gayeties began to thicken upon the approach -of school-days, and Barbara took active -part in all of them. In the relief about her -mother’s condition, all serious thoughts took -wing, and Barbara played the butterfly with -light heart. “The Infinite of the Ego” lay untouched -in a pigeon-hole of her desk, and she -felt no inclination to write anything heavier -than the semi-weekly letters that merrily told -the life at home to her mother. The taste of -play-time was very sweet after the hard summer; -and tennis and boating and driving filled -the days of early autumn to the brim.</p> - -<p>But the recess was of short duration. Barbara, -coming in from an afternoon tea, was -met in the hall by the Vegetable Man’s daughter. -“I’ve something to tell you, Miss Barbara,” -she said.</p> - -<p>“What is it, Libbie? Are we out of eggs? -I remembered, after I had gone, that I had -forgotten to order more.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No’m, it ain’t eggs; it’s me. We eloped -this afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“What!”</p> - -<p>“Yes’m; me and my Steady Company. He -got off his run this afternoon, and we thought -we might as well do it now and be done -with it.”</p> - -<p>“So you’re married?”</p> - -<p>“Yes’m; we went to the justice’s office. -They said it was the prettiest wedding that -had been there in a month. I wore my white -shoes, and I flush up so when I get excited.”</p> - -<p>“But how did you <i>elope?</i> Didn’t your family -ever know that you were going to be -married?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, they knew that for two months -already, but we didn’t say nothing to them -about this. We wanted a piece in the paper -about it, and they always write it up when a -couple elope. So we told the justice we was -running away, and we wanted it wrote up, -and he said he’d see to it. Besides, we didn’t -have time to let ’em know, out home; we just -decided it ourselves this afternoon.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, I hope you’ll be happy, Libbie,” -Barbara recovered herself enough to say. “I -suppose this means that I shall lose you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes’m. I’m just back for my clothes. -We’re going out to his mother’s to-night. -She’s got the harvesters at her house this -week, and will want me to come out and help -her cook for them. After that, we’re going to -housekeeping in town.”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you going to have any wedding-trip?”</p> - -<p>“We had it already. We took the trolley-car -out to the cemetery after the wedding, and set -there two good hours, till it was time to come -in and get supper. I knew you wouldn’t get -home in time. I’m sorry to leave you this way, -without warning, Miss Barbara, but it can’t -be helped. That’s what an elopement is.”</p> - -<p>Barbara’s pretty reception gown was laid -aside for a shirt-waist and skirt and a kitchen -apron. And as she and Gassy “cleared up” -the dishes, the Vegetable Man’s daughter -and her Steady Company passed away in a -cloud of romance and tobacco smoke.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XI<br /> - -<small>REAL TROUBLE</small></h2> - - - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“<span class="smcap">The</span> lion is the beast to fight,</div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">He leaps along the plain:</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And if you run with all your might,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">He runs with all his mane.</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">I’m glad I’m not a Hottentot,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But if I were, with outward cal-lum</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">I’d either faint upon the spot,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Or hie me up a leafy pal-lum,”</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="unindent">sang Jack, in a clear baritone that made up -in volume what it lacked in quality. “I don’t -know but I’ll <i>have</i> to take to the tall timber, -if I don’t find my school-books. Barberry, -have you seen anything of my Greek since -the twenty-sixth of last June?”</p> - -<p>“All the school-books are piled on the -rubber-box in the vestibule,” said Barbara. -“I suppose your Greek is among them. -Hurry, David; you’ll have to put on a clean -blouse before you start, and it’s after eight, -now.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> - -<p>David’s voice came from the pillows of the -couch, where he had curled himself into a -disconsolate little ball,—“I’m not going to -school to-day, Barbara.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?” asked his sister.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got a headache, and my shoulders -are tired.”</p> - -<p>“First symptoms of the nine o’clock disease,” -commented Jack; “David has it every -year.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think you feel so very bad,” said -Barbara. “You’ve been so much better lately. -And you’ll have to make up all the lessons -that you miss, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Wish I didn’t have to go to school,” said -David, in a petulant voice that was most -unusual with him; “I hate it.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t understand why you don’t like to -study when you so love to read,” remarked -Barbara. “You ought to do much better work -in school; you’re not a bit stupid at home.”</p> - -<p>“I have ideas in my head,” said David, -plaintively. “But when I get them out, they -aren’t ideas.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You do too much dreaming and too little -studying. I can’t pull you away from books -at home, but you don’t seem to be able -to concentrate your mind on your school -work.”</p> - -<p>“Lessons are so unint’resting,” said David. -“If I was in history or mythology, now, I’d like -those; but I only have reading and ’rithmetic -and language and g’ography. I’ve read everything -in my reader a million times, and every -time we come to a beauteous sentence in our -language lesson we have to chop it up into -old parts of speech. I can’t do numbers at all, -and I just hate g’ography!”</p> - -<p>“You like to read it at home.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but that’s diff’runt. I always read -about the people, and the animals, and what’s -in the country, and what the inhabitants do, -and how they live. But at school they make -you tell all the mountain ranges from the -northeast to the southwest of Asia, and the -names are awful hard to learn. They’re just -like eight times seven, and seven times nine: -there doesn’t seem to be anything to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -you remember them, but there’s a whole lot -of things to make you forget them!”</p> - -<p>“Wait until you get into fractions,” said -Gassy. “<i>Then</i> you’ll see! ’Rithmetic is just -planned to keep you guessing. When I was -beginning addition, I thought that was all -there was to learn, but afterwards I found -that I’d only learned it so I could do subtraction. -Everything you find out about just -makes more things for you to study. I wish -I’d stayed with my mind a blank,—like the -Everett baby.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry about that,” said Jack, consolingly. -“You haven’t strayed so far from -that condition that you can’t find your way -back.”</p> - -<p>There was a crackle of stiff white apron, a -flash of thin, black legs, and Whiting’s Language -Lessons went sailing through the air, -its pages falling as it struck Jack’s head.</p> - -<p>“Now see what you’ve done, Spitfire!” -said Jack.</p> - -<p>Two months before, this exhibition of temper -would have been made the subject of a moral<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -lecture from Barbara. Now she only looked -sober as she bent to help Gassy pick up the -leaves. “Poor book,” she said; “you’ve -given it what Jack deserved. That’s hardly -fair, is it? Come, Boy, help repair the damage -that you caused. No, David, you needn’t -help; I want you to go and get ready for -school.”</p> - -<p>“Must I?” pleaded David.</p> - -<p>“I think you had better.”</p> - -<p>The little boy raised himself from the -couch with a long-drawn sigh that Barbara -remembered days afterward. “All right, if -you say so,” he said: “I’ll change my waist -now.”</p> - -<p>The house seemed very still after the children -had trooped out to swell the procession -of young people headed toward the school. -Barbara reflected with relief that their departure -would lighten her labors. With the Kid -at kindergarten, and the others away from -home, she could count on a tidy house and -an unbroken opportunity for work.</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t seem very affectionate to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -glad that they are gone,” she said to herself. -“Mother always seemed to be sorry -when our vacation was over. But it <i>is</i> a relief -to have a quiet house, and a chance to -work without a dozen interruptions an hour. -Perhaps, after I get things into running -order, I shall have time to do a little writing -every morning while they are out of the way. -Then—”</p> - -<p>The thought of the pile of rejected manuscripts -lying upstairs in the corner of her desk -stopped her dreams. “I can’t even write any -more,” she thought bitterly. “This kitchen -drudgery takes the life out of my brain as -well as my body. I <i>must</i> find time to put the -early morning freshness into something besides -dishes.”</p> - -<p>It was with this idea that she carried a -writing-pad and her fountain pen out to the -side porch an hour later. An orderly house -and an undistracted mind seemed to make -conditions favorable for writing, and the -scanty bits of philosophy that had sifted their -way into the gayeties of the past fortnight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -began to find utterance in best college rhetoric. -The lust of writing stole over the girl, -and for two hours she wrote steadily, utterly -oblivious to everything.</p> - -<p>The sound of the opening of the gate roused -her. It was Jack, coming up the gravel walk -with David in his arms,—an inert little David, -whose arm hung heavily over his brother’s, -and whose hand swung limply at the end. -The fountain pen rolled unheeded off the -porch.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” breathed Barbara.</p> - -<p>“Where’s father?” asked Jack.</p> - -<p>“Gone to see the Wemott baby. What’s -the matter with David?”</p> - -<p>“I wish I knew,” said Jack, hoarsely. “He’s -sick, though. Call father by ’phone, and then -help me to get him to bed. I’ll tell you -about it when you come upstairs.”</p> - -<p>Barbara’s heart stood still, but her feet flew. -“Wemott’s residence,” she said at the telephone. -“Oh, I don’t <i>know</i> the number, Central; -hurry, please, do hurry!”</p> - -<p>It seemed hours before the answer came.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -“Is Dr. Grafton still there? . . . No, don’t call -him. . . . Tell him to come home at once.” -Even in her excitement she found thought to -add the words that should save him ten minutes -of worry,—“There has been a hurry call.”</p> - -<p>The limp little body lay stretched out on -David’s bed. “I can’t find his night-shirt,” -said Jack, in the same hoarse voice. “Where -do you keep it, Barbara? He was taken sick -at school. Bob Needham came running over -to the High School to tell me to come at once,—that -David was acting strangely. By the -time I got there, he was lying just like this -across one of the recitation benches, and his -teacher was trying to make him swallow a -little brandy. She told me that she had noticed -that he was not himself during a recitation; -he began to talk loudly and rather wildly, -and to insist that his head <i>did</i> ache; that”—Jack -seemed to force out the words—“that -it <i>wasn’t</i> the nine o’clock disease. She tried -to quiet him, and had just succeeded in getting -him to agree to go home, when he toppled -over on the floor. Don’t wait to unfasten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -that shoe-string, Barbara; cut it. Of course -I brought him right home. Willowby’s driver -was just passing the school, and I hailed him. -When will father be here?”</p> - -<p>Between the disjointed sentences brother -and sister put the sick child to bed. Then Jack -hurried to call Dr. Curtis by telephone, while -Barbara hovered over the still form until her -father’s step was heard on the stair. In the ten -minutes’ interval the girl learned what four -years of college had failed to teach,—the -hardest lesson that Time brings to Youth,—how -to wait.</p> - -<p>The two physicians arrived almost simultaneously. -Then Barbara and Jack were sent -downstairs on errands that both felt were manufactured -for the occasion. When they came -back, the bedroom door was shut and they -sat down in the hall outside, silent and aloof, -and yet drawn together by the same fear which -struggled at each heart. After what seemed -to be hours, the door opened, and Dr. Curtis -came out. Two white faces questioned his.</p> - -<p>“Probably brain fever,” said the doctor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -“We hope that it won’t be very serious,—if -we’ve caught it in time. Jack, you come along -to the drug-store with me. Miss Barbara, you -might go in and see your father now.”</p> - -<p>But the girl had not waited for his instructions, -to push past him into the bedroom. Dr. -Grafton stood looking down at the little figure -outlined by the bed-clothes. He turned as -Barbara came in, and the girl received no encouragement -from his face. When he spoke, -however, it was reassuringly. “Come in, Barbara; -you can’t disturb him now. He’s had -some medicine, and he won’t rouse for some -time. I want to talk with you.”</p> - -<p>“Is he dangerously sick?”</p> - -<p>“We can’t tell just how sick he is, but we -won’t think about danger yet. His fever is -pretty high. Has he complained about not -feeling well lately?”</p> - -<p>“Not until this morning, and then not much. -David never does really complain. He wanted -to stay away from school, though.”</p> - -<p>“He ought never to have gone,” said her -father.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> - -<p>Barbara winced as though she had been -struck. “That was my fault, father; I told him -that I thought he had better go.”</p> - -<p>Dr. Grafton did not seem to hear. “I’ve been -trying to think what is the best thing for us -to do. I don’t dare to let your mother know -yet. I’ve sent for a nurse for the boy, but it’s -going to make extra care for you to have sickness -in the house. I don’t know just what -we’ll do with the children; we must try to find -some haven for Cecilia and the Kid. You and -Jack and I must hold the fort. Do you think -we can manage it? It may be a long siege.”</p> - -<p>Barbara’s eyes overflowed, but her voice -was steady as she answered her father with a -slang phrase that seemed, somehow, to carry -more assurance with it than college English -would have done,—“Sure thing!”</p> - -<p>“That’s all, then. The nurse will be here -in twenty minutes. Try to keep the children -still when they get home from school. I know -that I can depend on you to keep things running, -downstairs.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, father.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> - -<p>News traveled fast in Auburn, and before -the children had returned from school, two visitors -had cleared some of the difficulties from -Barbara’s path. The first was Mrs. Willowby, -who stopped at the door to tell Barbara that -Gassy and the Kid were to be provided with -a temporary home. “I am on my way to school -now,” she said; “and I’ll explain it to them, -and will take them home with me this noon. -If you can get together what clothing they -will need, I’ll send Michael over for it this -afternoon. You know what a happiness it will -be to me to do anything for your mother’s -children, and I’ll try to mother them enough -to keep them contented. In the mean time, -dear, we are all at your service.”</p> - -<p>As Mrs. Willowby’s carriage left the door, -Susan came hurrying up the walk, a covered -plate in her hand, and her face alive with sympathy. -She caught Barbara’s face and drew it -down to her own, using the childish name for -her which had been dropped since college -days. “Dear old Bobby,” she said. “I’ve just -heard about.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> - -<p>Barbara’s face relaxed and the tears began -to gather.</p> - -<p>“I’ve come to stay,” said Susan, in a practical -voice, which brought more relief than pity -would have done. “That is, to stay as long -as you need me. David may be all right in -a day or two, and then I’ll only be in the -way. But in the mean time, I’m going to be -Bridget.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” protested Barbara.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” mocked Susan. “You’ll have -enough on your hands with all the extra cares, -let alone the cooking. You must save a part -of yourself for David, if he needs you. I don’t -expect to do as well as you have been doing, -if Auburn gossip is to be trusted, but I shan’t -poison your family during your absence from -the kitchen.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t let you do it,” said Barbara. “You -ought not to take so much time away from -home. What would your family do without -you?”</p> - -<p>“I have them trained so that they could -get along without me for a year,” answered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -Susan. “Brother Frank is as handy about the -kitchen as a woman, and he is not at work, -now. Besides, I shan’t be away all the time; -I shall run back and forth, enough to have my -fingers in both pies. And speaking of pie, -Barbara, here is a cherry one that I had standing -idle in my pantry; I felt sure that you -hadn’t made any dessert, yet.”</p> - -<p>Barbara took the plate unsteadily. The two -girls seemed to have changed natures, and -something of Susan’s former stiffness had -fallen upon Barbara. Of the two, Susan was -far more at ease. “But I can’t take favors -from you,—now,” said Barbara, awkwardly, -“after what—”</p> - -<p>“Look here, Barbara Grafton,” answered -Susan. “You’ve always been doing favors -for me,—all your life,—favors that I couldn’t -return. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but -that I didn’t know how. You could always <i>do</i> -things,—write, and draw, and sing, and entertain, -and teach,—and I’ve reaped the benefit. -Don’t you suppose I’ve ever wished that I -could return the favors? Now there’s only one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -thing in all this world that I can do for you, -and that is cook. Do you mean to say that -you’re not going to let me do it?”</p> - -<p>Over the little brown pie the two girls -clasped hands. “Where do you keep your -potatoes?” said Susan. “It’s so late that I’ll -have to boil them.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Somehow the long hours of the day dragged -by, and ten o’clock at night found Barbara -in her room.</p> - -<p>“Go to bed, now,” her father had said. -“David’s stupor will last all night, and I want -you to be ready for to-morrow, when we shall -need you. Miss Graves can take care of him -better than either of us, just now. Our turn -will come later.”</p> - -<p>It was hard to stay in the sick-room, where -the deathly silence was broken only by the -little invalid’s heavy breathing and the swish -of Miss Graves’s stiffly starched petticoats; -harder still to go away, beyond these sounds. -Barbara went reluctantly, dreading the long -night when hands must lie idle, and feet still.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -Jack, too, had decided to “turn in early,” and -the house seemed very silent without the -usual uproar of the children’s bedtime. She -had just fallen into an uneasy sleep, when she -was roused by a step upon the stair. In a moment -she was wide awake. Was it her father -with bad news, or Miss Graves in search of -something? By the familiar squeak Barbara -knew that the top stair had been reached. -The step sounded in the hallway, and the girl -sat up in bed as her door was pushed open -and a shadowy little figure entered the room.</p> - -<p>“Cecilia Grafton!” exclaimed Barbara.</p> - -<p>Gassy tiptoed toward the bed. “How’s -David?” she demanded, in a whisper.</p> - -<p>“How on earth did you get here?”</p> - -<p>“Walked. How’s David?”</p> - -<p>“Just about the same. Father says he is -not suffering any pain. Did you come alone -at this time of night?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Gassy, defiantly, “I did. Mrs. -Willowby thought we ought to go to bed -early. So we did. She let me sleep in the rose -room, only I couldn’t. Mr. Willowby went to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -bed early, too, in the room just across the hall, -and he snored awful. I stayed awake about -two hours. I knew I couldn’t get to sleep -unless I knew, myself, how David was, so I -dressed and came. Is he going to be awful -sick, Barbara? Tell me the truth; please don’t -fool me!” A pair of cold little hands found -their way to Barbara’s shoulders.</p> - -<p>“We hope not, dear.”</p> - -<p>“I wish I could sleep here to-night. I hate -to be sent away.”</p> - -<p>“But Mrs. Willowby will worry, if she finds -that you have gone.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t you telephone her that I’m here? -I’ll go back to-morrow, Barbara, and I’ll be -awful good if you’ll just let me sleep with you -to-night. I always thought heaven was like -that rose room, but I can’t sleep in it. Please -let me stay here.”</p> - -<p>Barbara slipped on her bath-robe and tiptoed -down to the telephone. All was quiet -in the sick-room as she passed. When she -reached her own chamber, Gassy was cuddled -down between the sheets. She snuggled close<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -to her older sister with a little sob. “Even -rose rooms can’t keep you from worrying, -can they?” she said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In the three weeks that followed, Barbara -discovered that nothing can “keep you from -worrying” when the dark shadow that men -call Dread of Death stands on the threshold. -She marveled constantly that one frail -little body could withstand such desperate -onslaughts of fever and pain. David’s illness -was quick of development: the drowsiness -was followed by days of high fever, and these -were succeeded by nights of unconsciousness -which plainly showed the strain to which the -little frame was being subjected. He wasted -greatly under the suffering, and although her -father and Dr. Curtis said, “About the same,” -each day, it seemed to Barbara’s eyes that the -little brother grew less human and more -shadowy with every succeeding twenty-four -hours. Mrs. Grafton had not been told, both -physicians deciding that the shock might -cause a relapse, and Barbara’s hardest duty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -was to keep the news from her mother. In the -cheery letters that continued to go to the sanitarium -at regular intervals, there was not a -word of the tragedy at home, but the writing -was more of a strain than the watching in the -sick-room.</p> - -<p>As Dr. Grafton had predicted to Barbara, -her turn came later. David took a most unaccountable -dislike to Miss Graves, whose devotion -to starch was the only thing in her disfavor, -and he objected to her presence in the -sick-room with the unreasoning vehemence of -the delirious. It was impossible to dismiss Miss -Graves without some valid excuse, and equally -impossible to secure another nurse in Auburn. -So most of the care devolved upon Barbara, -much to David’s satisfaction, for he called -constantly for his sister, and seemed most -contented when her hands smoothed the hot -pillow or gave the sleeping-draught.</p> - -<p>To the management of the housework, Barbara -gave little thought. Meals were scarcely -an incident in those days of waiting. Little by -little, as conditions grew graver in the invalid’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -room, Barbara gave up more and more -of her household duties, yet she was vaguely -aware that things went on like clockwork -downstairs. The meals that appeared upon the -table were delicious, and yet Susan’s part in -them was not obvious. She slipped in and out -of the house at all hours, always bringing comfort -with her, and yet bestowing it so quietly -that it seemed the gift of a beneficent fairy.</p> - -<p>Every critical thing that Barbara had ever -said of the provincialism and officiousness of -Auburn folk came back to her during these -days of trouble. When Mrs. Willowby came -with advice or encouragement, when the -Enderby children brought home David’s -school-books, when Miss Pettibone came running -“across lots” with beef tea or a plate of -doughnuts, when Mr. Ritter pressed his telephone -into service, and agreed to carry all -messages, that the sick child might not be disturbed, -when even Miss Bates stopped at the -door to inquire affectionately about the invalid, -and when all the town combined to keep the -news from Mrs. Grafton, Barbara’s conscience<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -was stricken. Her heart warmed with gratitude, -and the meaning of the word neighborliness -was, for the first time, made clear to her.</p> - -<p>And yet, with all the kindliness and helpfulness -that Auburn could bestow, there was -plenty left for the girl to do. It was Barbara -who answered the door, who took the messages, -who encouraged the children, who -cheered Jack, who comforted her father, who -assisted the nurse, who was brave when conditions -were most discouraging, and sunny -when the clouds hung lowest. And it was Barbara, -too, who sat beside the bed, ready to -rub the aching side or smooth the feverish -brow, and who met, with a sinking heart, the -discouragement that each day brought.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was the middle of October before the crisis -came. An early frost had stripped the flower -beds, withered the vines, and left the yard -bare. Barbara, looking out of the window -through a blur of rain, on the day when David’s -fever was highest, was vaguely relieved by -the desolation outside. Sunshine out of doors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -would have been a mockery. She stood with -her back toward the bed and her face toward -the street, but her eyes saw nothing but the -wasted little form that tossed restlessly to and -fro, and her ears heard only the heavy breathing, -broken, now and then, by a moan. Miss -Graves had gone to get a few hours’ sleep to -fortify herself for the vigil of the night, and -Dr. Grafton, in the next room, was consulting -with Dr. Curtis. The house was so still that -their low voices were plainly audible. The -words were not distinct, but the discouraged -note in her father’s speech fell heavily upon -the girl’s heart. “<i>They</i> are afraid,” she said -to herself.</p> - -<p>She turned from the desolate window to the -bed, and with pale lips and dry eyes gazed -down at the little brother. David tossed restlessly -upon his pillow, and called aloud for -Barbara.</p> - -<p>“I’m here, dear,” said the girl, taking the -small, hot hand in hers; but the boy flung it -away with a strange strength.</p> - -<p>“I want <i>Barbara</i>,” he cried.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> - -<p>At the sound of the hoarse voice, Dr. Grafton -hurried back into the room, followed by -Dr. Curtis. And then began a fight with death -that Barbara never forgot. Pushed aside as -merely an onlooker, the girl watched, with a -sort of curiosity, the man that she saw for the -first time in her life. The father she had always -known had vanished; in his place was -the skilled physician, who seemed to have -thought for the patient rather than the son. -The two doctors worked like one machine,—fighting -the fever back step by step, beating -it, choking it, quenching it; pitting against it -strength and science and skill. And when it -finally succumbed, and David was snatched -from the burning, a poor little wasted wraith -of life, Barbara understood the worship that -Dr. Grafton’s patients gave him.</p> - -<p>“We’ve won out,” he said. “The fever’s -left the boy. Now if we can only keep him -alive to-night—”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The shadows of evening were heavy in the -room as Miss Graves’s starchiness sounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -along the hall. She went at once to the bedside, -and laid her hand on the boy’s forehead. -Then she looked quickly up at the doctor. In -that glance Barbara read the whole story,—it -was a question, now, of vitality.</p> - -<p>Susan herself brought up the tray of supper -to Barbara, who tried to eat it in order to seem -appreciative. But the rolls and the creamed -chicken were sent back untasted, and she -could not even find words to reply to the unworded -sympathy in Susan’s good-night. The -old habit of gesture comes back in times of -deepest emotion, and both girls understood, -without need of words, Susan’s reassuring pat -of the shoulder, and Barbara’s tight grasp of -the hand.</p> - -<p>“Go to bed, children,” said Dr. Grafton, as -he came out of the sick-room to the hall where -Barbara and Jack stood together. “We need -absolute quiet and plenty of air for the boy. -There’ll be no change for several hours, and -you want all the sleep you can get.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t sleep,” protested Jack.</p> - -<p>“But you can <i>rest</i>, and you must do it,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -answered his father. “We may need you -both—later.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll call us,” said Jack, “if—”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said his father, “I will.”</p> - -<p>Jack turned, without a word, to his own -room, and Barbara heard him throw himself -on the bed with a half-stifled moan. She herself -opened her bedroom door and went in. -Sleep was out of the question. She fell upon -her knees beside her couch and prayed,—an -inarticulate, broken cry for the help that is -beyond human power. Then she lighted her -little night lamp, and sat down before her -desk with a volume of Emerson in her hand. -She turned to the essay on Compensation, -and read, her eyes seeking and finding the -detached sentences that seemed written for -her:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>We cannot part with our friends. We cannot let -our angels go. We do not see that they only go out -that archangels may come in. . . . We cannot again -find aught so dear, so sweet, so graceful. But we sit -and weep in vain. . . . The death of a dear . . . -brother . . . breaks up a wonted occupation, or a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -household. . . . But . . . the man or woman who -would have remained a sunny garden flower with no -room for its roots and too much sunshine for its head, -by the falling of the walls and the neglect of the gardener -is made the banian of the forest, yielding shade -and fruit to wide neighborhoods of men.</p></div> - -<p>Barbara dropped the book hastily. “There’s -no compensation in that!” she said bitterly. -Then she picked up a bit of paper, and put -the cry of her heart into a few crude words.</p> - -<p>Her father, coming into the room two hours -later, found her there at her desk, her tear-stained -face bowed on her arms. The pencil -was still in her hand. Dr. Grafton touched her -shoulder gently, but the girl did not waken. -He hesitated for a moment, hoping for the -right words to tell her, and as he did so his -eyes fell upon the crumpled paper before him. -It read:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> -<div class="center">THE BANIAN TREE</div> -<div class="verse">The flower grows beside the wall,—</div> -<div class="verse">A little, sheltered thing,</div> -<div class="verse">And over it the sunbeams fall</div> -<div class="verse"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>And merry linnets sing.</div> -<div class="verse">No usefulness it has in life</div> -<div class="verse">So weak it is, and small,</div> -<div class="verse">And yet how happily it grows</div> -<div class="verse">Beside the shielding wall.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">The banian tree grows tall and straight,</div> -<div class="verse">It sends its branches wide;</div> -<div class="verse">Beneath its shade the pilgrims wait,</div> -<div class="verse">The travelers abide.</div> -<div class="verse">They praise it, lying on the sward;</div> -<div class="verse">But what is that to me?</div> -<div class="verse">Forgive me, Lord; but it is hard</div> -<div class="verse">To be a banian tree!</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The doctor’s eyes filled. “Thank God,” he -said, “she won’t have to be, this time!”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>CHAPTER XII<br /> - -<small>THE END OF THE INTERREGNUM</small></h2> - - -<p class="drop-cap">THE Grafton children stood in a row, -watching their father and Barbara -establish David in the big Morris -chair, on the occasion of his first trip downstairs. -Joy and awe were struggling for supremacy -in their hearts, but were carefully -concealed after the fashion of young America.</p> - -<p>“Well, David,” said Jack, jocularly, “you -look just exactly like a collapsed balloon. -Remember how nice and round you used to -be? Now, hurry up and get there again. It -was becoming.”</p> - -<p>“He reminds me of the pictures of the -famine-sufferers in India,” remarked Gassy. -“How their ribs did stick out, and how funny -their hands were,—like claws.”</p> - -<p>“David looks to me like the sweetest small -boy ever made,” said Barbara, quietly, as she -bent down to kiss the pale lips of the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -fellow, and tucked the afghan around him -more closely.</p> - -<p>“Puzzle,—find David!” called Jack. And -indeed, the child seemed lost in the huge -chair, his wasted little face wearing a faint -smile of contentment at being the centre of -so much attention.</p> - -<p>“If you children continue to talk so loudly, -you will have to leave,” said Dr. Grafton, as -he prepared to depart. “Barbara, you will -see that David has all the quiet he needs, of -course.”</p> - -<p>The Kid raised himself from the floor, where -he had been wriggling in the imaginary likeness -of a boa constrictor.</p> - -<p>“Everybody talks about David,” he said -jealously. “Aren’t I the baby any more?”</p> - -<p>“You’ll always be a baby,” consoled Jack; -“a great big baby, even when you are as old -as I am. So don’t worry.”</p> - -<p>Gassy laughed, and the Kid looked puzzled. -“Babies always cry,” he said reflectively.</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Jack.</p> - -<p>“Then you must be a baby too,” added the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -Kid, with triumph, “’cause I saw you cry when -we first saw David. I didn’t cry at all.”</p> - -<p>“No, you young sinner,” returned his elder -brother. “You’ve made a picnic of the whole -thing. I’ll bet a cookie you’ve had a good -half of every bit of food that has been sent to -David. Hasn’t he, Barbara?”</p> - -<p>“People have been very kind,” said his -sister, disregarding his question. “But really, -if Miss Bates brings another installment of -preserved plums, I don’t know what I shall -do. David can’t eat them, and I’ve explained -it to her; but she insists that they are the best -things possible for him, and brings them every -other day, with unvarying regularity.”</p> - -<p>“Let them come,” said Jack, “and Charles -and I will advance to the onslaught, and deliver -David from the attacks of the enemy. -Plums, chicken-broth—even quail—let them -continue to flow in abundantly, and fail to mention -to Auburn that David is not an ostrich.”</p> - -<p>“I guess Mrs. Willowby understands,” observed -Gassy, impersonally. “She asked me if -David enjoyed the wine jelly she sent yesterday,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -and I said I didn’t know, but that Jack -said it was the best he had ever tasted.”</p> - -<p>“Thunder!” exclaimed Jack, turning very -red. “Gassy, you do bear away the palm for -unpalatable honesty. Why is it, I wonder, that -every really honest person is disagreeable, -too?”</p> - -<p>“Letters!” said Dr. Grafton, reappearing -opportunely. “Two for you, Barbara, one -from your mother, marked ‘Personal,’ and -the other postmarked New York. David, how -would you like to see your mother again?”</p> - -<p>The little boy looked up and smiled at his -father. “I wish she’d come,” he said. “She’s -never seen me since I was a sufferer from -India. I was a balloon when she left.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you will soon have a chance to show -her how fast you are getting well,” replied the -doctor, smiling. “I wrote her the whole story -of last month, the other day, since she is so -much stronger, and here is her answer. She -will be at home at six o’clock this very afternoon.”</p> - -<p>The children all exclaimed at once, even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -Gassy, who threw her arms around Jack’s neck -and hugged him, quite forgetting her usual -self-repression, and his recent thrust at her -honesty.</p> - -<p>“Hurray!” cried Jack, joyfully, escaping -from Gassy and twirling a small chair in air. -“It seems too good to be true.”</p> - -<p>Barbara said nothing. She glanced at her -father, who returned her look with one of understanding. -They were both thinking of the -home-coming as it might have been.</p> - -<p>“I forget about mother, some,” remarked -the Kid. “Was she as nice as Barbara?”</p> - -<p>David answered him. “They’re both the -same kind,” he said quaintly, “but mother’s -mother. That’s all the difference.”</p> - -<p>“We must have a house clean and pretty -enough for mother to come back to,” said -Barbara, smiling at the invalid. “Gassy, you -will have to help a little; there will be so much -to do. Jack, take care of David for a little -while, please.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t mind helping,” said Gassy, as they -left the room together. “I’d sweep the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -house, if it would bring mother back. I wonder -how she’ll think I look, with my hair bobbity. -Mercy, Barbara; you dropped one of -your letters. Here it is.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll open it now,” said Barbara, sitting -down on the stairs. “Why, it’s from the Infant.”</p> - -<p>The Infant’s letter was short and to the -point.</p> - -<p>“You haven’t written me or the other girls -for three months,” it began; “and I shall punish -you. I shan’t tell you that Atalanta is engaged, -and that the Sphinx is too, though how -it happened, I don’t see. The man must have -been able to answer some of her mathematical -riddles, or he never could have reached her -heart. And I won’t tell you about my summer -abroad,—not a word,—nor how Knowledge -is going to be a post-grad. at Columbia, and -visit me at the end of every week. You don’t -deserve a line, Barbara Grafton! But I am -writing to tell you that I just heard—no -matter how—that you refused the Eastman -Scholarship, and to ask you mildly whether<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -you are insane. With all your talent and ability, -Babbie, how could you refuse it? Every -one always knew that you should have had -it in the first place. Now you surely are not -going to stay in that little town of yours that -you have so often ridiculed. There is only one -reason by which I can account for it, and I -don’t think you can be in love.”</p> - -<p>Barbara laughed aloud, and folded up the -letter. “To think that I wanted it so much,” -she said aloud, unconsciously. “What if I -had not been here this autumn!”</p> - -<p>“Hadn’t been here?” repeated Gassy. -“Why, Barbara! Did you ever think of leaving -us?”</p> - -<p>Barbara threw an arm around her sister’s -shoulders. “I wouldn’t leave you for anything,” -she said.</p> - -<p>They had reached the kitchen, and had -fallen to work together. “It’s too bad we -haven’t a servant,” said Gassy, “though you -do cook very well now, Barbara. Only I’d -like mother to come home and find a girl in -the kitchen.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s too bad, indeed,” returned Barbara, -cheerfully. “But remember how we were -helped when David was ill; and think how -Mrs. Willowby gave up her own maid to us -for so long, and of all that Susan did. I’m so -happy over David that I don’t mind cooking -nowadays. And you are a nice little assistant, -Gassy.”</p> - -<p>The nice little assistant glowed with pleasure. -“Know why?” she inquired.</p> - -<p>“No; why?”</p> - -<p>“Hair!” replied Gassy, laconically. “Hair -and clothes. You were pretty good to me that -dreadful day when the hair went, and you -make me look so much nicer. I like you very -much, Barbara,”—Gassy never used the word -“love,”—“and I don’t think college has hurt -you one bit, no matter what Miss Bates says. -It’s just as Jack says,—your A. B. stands for -A Brick, instead of A Bachelor.”</p> - -<p>“Did he say that?” said Barbara, laughing -at the unexpected conclusion, as she leaned -over and patted the stiff little shoulder near -her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You’re a dear little sister,” she said. -“Who’s that?”</p> - -<p>A loud knock had sounded at the door.</p> - -<p>“Come in!” called Barbara.</p> - -<p>The door opened slowly; a puffing man, -carrying a small trunk, entered, and dropped -it heavily on the floor. It was the Vegetable -Man.</p> - -<p>“Why—what—” began Barbara.</p> - -<p>The Vegetable Man smiled at her serenely. -“She’s comin’,” he said, and disappeared, -leaving Barbara and Gassy staring at each -other in astonishment.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the door reopened, and there -appeared the Vegetable Man’s daughter, as -untidy and breezy as ever.</p> - -<p>“I’ve come back,” she said. “I heerd you -was wantin’ help, so I come over. Guess I’ll -<i>stay, this</i> time. Shall I hang my hat here?”</p> - -<p>“But—your husband—” began Barbara.</p> - -<p>“<i>Him? Why</i>, don’t you know?” returned -the Vegetable Man’s daughter, serenely. “I -didn’t like ’im after we was married. He -drank. So I come home.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Drank!” cried Gassy, in horror.</p> - -<p>The Vegetable Man’s daughter nodded. -“Like a fish!” she added. “’Twan’t a day -before he began. Stood it two months, I did, -an’ then I lit out. Come home, an’ it wasn’t -excitin’ enough for me, so when I heerd you -was still without, I come over ag’in. Miss -Barbara, if you don’t tell me what to git for -dinner, there won’t be no time for gittin’.”</p> - -<p>Barbara started. “You took me so by surprise, -Libbie,” she said, “that I can scarcely -think. I’m delighted to have you back, especially -since mother is coming home to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Want to know!” ejaculated the girl. -“Landed right in the middle of excitement, -didn’t I?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; and we’re going to celebrate with a -grand supper,” put in Gassy, thinking it best -to break the news at once.</p> - -<p>“You bet!” cried the Vegetable Man’s -daughter, cheerfully. “Nothing’s too good -for your ma. Now, Miss Barbara, what meat? -Or do you still go without?”</p> - -<p>Barbara hesitated. In that moment’s hesitation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -there was involved more than the ordering -of a dinner. Theory had its last battle -with Practicality, and came out with drooping -colors. But Dr. Grafton would have been relieved -in regard to the stability of Barbara’s -sense of humor, if he could have heard the -laugh with which she admitted her own defeat. -“I will order some steak,” she said.</p> - -<p>“It’s too good to be true,” she said joyfully -to Gassy, as they left the kitchen. “I declare, -I scarcely know where I am, I am so glad. -Isn’t it beautiful when things unexpectedly -work out right?”</p> - -<p>“Glad the Vegetable Man’s daughter’s -husband drank?” inquired Gassy.</p> - -<p>Barbara laughed again, and did not answer.</p> - -<p>The morning flew by as if Father Time had -suddenly borrowed the wings of Mercury. Barbara -dusted and straightened the rooms, putting -everything in immaculate order. Many -little duties, which had been disregarded during -David’s illness, suddenly came to her recollection, -and the girl essayed to finish them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -all. She resolved that her reign should end in -a blaze of glory, and that her mother should -see that the Interregnum had not been entirely -discreditable to the House of Grafton. -Gassy, a willing assistant, performed unwonted -miracles in the way of dusting, at the -same time keeping up an unending flow of -conversation.</p> - -<p>They were putting the finishing touches to -the living-room, where David still sat, waited -upon cheerfully by the Kid, when the doorbell -rang vigorously. The door opened without -ceremony and a strident voice in the hall -called, “Barbara Grafton!”</p> - -<p>“It’s Miss Bates!” exclaimed Barbara, in a -low tone. “Run and take her into the library, -Gassy.”</p> - -<p>But it was too late.</p> - -<p>“Oh, here you are!” said Miss Bates, appearing -in the doorway. “I came right in because -I thought you were probably not dressed -to answer the bell. Barbara, I brought in some -more plums because I know David ought to -eat ’em to build him up.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am so sorry,” said Barbara. “But father -says they are still too much for him.”</p> - -<p>“Your father don’t know, Barbara; no, he -don’t. Men never know about such things. -Now there ain’t much sugar in ’em—”</p> - -<p>“Never mind!” interposed the Kid, courageously. -“Never mind, Miss Bates, I’ll eat -’em. Jack says”—</p> - -<p>“Hey?” ejaculated the spinster.</p> - -<p>“Charles,” warned Barbara, “you—”</p> - -<p>“Jack says to let you give ’em and we’ll -eat ’em,” continued the Kid, determined to -finish his sentence.</p> - -<p>Miss Bates glared at him. “Barbara,” she -said, “I don’t know why it is, but I get insulted -by these children every time I put my nose -into this house. Now I don’t want to complain, -but I’ve a mind to tell you what Charles did -to me last night. I was laying the table for -supper, and I’d left the window open for air, -and all of a sudden that child’s head was -in the window, and he says, ‘Mercy on us, -Birdine, is that all you’ve got for supper?’”</p> - -<p>The Kid disappeared under the sofa like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -a whipped dog. Barbara closed her lips tight, -to keep from smiling.</p> - -<p>“Well, of course,” put in Gassy, “the Kid -is always used to plenty of food, you see.”</p> - -<p>Miss Bates glared again. “Is that why he -wants to eat up my plums?” she inquired. -“No, Barbara, I’ll take ’em back, since you -won’t let David eat ’em. And I want to tell -you now, that I don’t intend to come to this -house again under any circumstances, since -these children are so rude, till your ma comes -home, no matter <i>how</i> long it is!”</p> - -<p>“But she’s coming home to-day!” burst -from both David and Gassy, in dismayed -unison.</p> - -<p>Miss Bates gave them a queer look, flashed -a disdainful glance at Barbara, and left the -house.</p> - -<p>“It’s no use to scold you, Charles,” said -Barbara, as she extricated the child from his -hiding-place. “But I am glad that mother is -coming to take the burden of your dreadful -speeches. Now see if you <i>can</i> stay good until -supper-time.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> - -<p>She left the room to arrange the details of -the feast, and as she passed through the hall, -she came upon the letter marked “Personal” -which she had left forgotten on the table.</p> - -<p>“I declare!” said she, sitting down on the -stairs again. “I believe I am going crazy with -joy to-day. I have forgotten one thing after -another.”</p> - -<p>She opened the letter eagerly, and as she did -so, stray words caught her eye,—“undoubted -talent,”—“unquestionable success,” etc. She -turned to the first page and read:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear little Girl</span>,—For you are a little girl to -me, and always will be, in spite of your twenty-one -years,—I have something to tell you which cannot -wait until I reach home. It is also somewhat of a -confession, and I am sure that you will absolve me -when you have read this.</p> - -<p>I wonder if you have realized how very entertaining -your letters have been, and what a godsend they -were to me in this tedious place. They were so clever -that I could not help reading them to a few of the -friends whom I have made here. One of them is -Hugh S. Black, whom I have often mentioned, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -remember, and who has been slowly recovering from -an attack of nervous prostration. He grew very much -interested in your letters,—so much so, that I had -not the heart to refuse to read them. I told him of -your desire to write, and of the piles of rejected psychological -studies which have been mounting up on -your desk. In fact, you told him, yourself, although -you were not aware of it. We have often talked you -over, and he thinks that you have undoubted talent, -and can gain unquestionable success in writing for -publication, if you will be willing to attempt the kind -of things that lie within your own experience. Mr. -Black said the other day, “Your girl has wit, humor, -an excellent power of description, the faculty of seeing -things as they are, and of describing them from -an original point of view. Why won’t she write stories -or sketches dealing with every-day life, instead of -such nonsense as ‘The Effect of Imagination on the -Habits of the Child’?”</p> - -<p>This morning, Mr. Black asked me if I would not -request you to read over your letters and change them -into proper form for a story, which he will be glad to -publish serially in his magazine, if the finished product -meets with his approval. This is a splendid -opportunity for you, little daughter, and I advise you -to grasp it.</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Are you disappointed to find that your talents do -not lie along the psychological paths of lofty, intellectual -labor? Does this story of your experiences of -one summer seem too trivial for your effort? I think -not, my dear, if the change in the tone of your letters -can be depended upon for inference. We shall talk -this over when I am once more at home, and can -relieve my brave, strong girl of the burdens which -she has borne for four long months.</p></div> - -<p>There was more in the letter, but Barbara -did not read it. She danced about the hall -with such abandon that her father opened his -office door, and regarded her with amazement.</p> - -<p>“Has my housekeeper taken leave of her -senses?” he asked affectionately.</p> - -<p>“On the contrary,” returned Barbara, saucily, -“she has just regained them. Father -dear, I realize that we must not all aspire to -high tragedy or classic sublimity. High comedy -seems to be more in my line.”</p> - -<p>Her father looked at her with his eyes -softening more and more. “Come in here,” -he said, and closed the door behind them.</p> - -<p>“Barbara, my dear,” he began, looking at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -her over his spectacles, “I have a kind of -confession to make to you.”</p> - -<p>“Another one!” thought Barbara.</p> - -<p>“When you came home last June, things -were a little hard for you, and seemed still -harder, didn’t they?”</p> - -<p>“Well, rather!” said Barbara, slangily.</p> - -<p>“Your point of view was young and uncompromising, -and—yes—rather toploftical.”</p> - -<p>“I know it.”</p> - -<p>Her father smiled. “You surveyed the -world from a collegiate summit, and found it -woefully lacking. Well, so it is lacking, but -all the advice from all the lofty heights in the -world will never make it better. We must -come down into the plain, and struggle with -the common herd, and help to raise it by our -individual effort; glad to be a living, toiling -part of great humanity, like every one else; -never the isolated, censorious onlooker who -does not share the common lot. This is one -of the hardest lessons for youth to learn, and -I have watched you learn it, during all these -long, hard months.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p> - -<p>“If I only have really learned it!” put in -Barbara.</p> - -<p>“I have stood aside,” her father continued. -“Sometimes I did not help you, even when -I might, and you thought me undiscerning or -abstracted. Barbara, my dear, you have done -it all yourself, and I am very, very proud of -my firstborn.”</p> - -<p>Barbara crimsoned with pleasure. “I’ve -made awfully silly mistakes,” she said, “and -you have been <i>so</i> dear and patient.”</p> - -<p>She kissed her father gratefully. As she -went upstairs, her mind was filled with wonder -that she should ever have misunderstood -him so completely, and have complacently -ascribed to herself intellect and culture and -knowledge superior to his. She found herself -feeling actually grateful for the events of her -life since June.</p> - -<p>“What if I had never known his darlingness!” -she said.</p> - -<p>It was not many hours before Auburn knew -of the expected arrival of Mrs. Grafton. Miss -Bates had constituted herself an information<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -bureau, and had flitted hither and thither with -an alacrity not at all hindered by her rage -against the younger Graftons.</p> - -<p>About four o’clock in the afternoon, as -Barbara was giving capable directions in the -kitchen, a knock sounded on the door.</p> - -<p>“I just ran in this way,” said Susan, “because -I wanted to congratulate you, and to -see if you don’t want this chocolate cake for -supper. Barbara, what are you laughing at?”</p> - -<p>“This is the third cake I have received to-day -for mother,” giggled Barbara, “and four -chickens are waiting to be consumed. But put -it down, Sue dear, and Jack will make a hole -in it very soon.”</p> - -<p>“Well, anyway,” Susan declared, “it’s because -every one loves your mother so much! -And it is also because every one recognizes -your pluck.”</p> - -<p>“Everybody in this whole town is lovely!” -answered Barbara.</p> - -<p>Susan smiled. But there was no triumph in -her face, only joy that her friend had come -into her own.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It is half-past five!” announced Barbara -from the window-seat of the living-room. -“Father has gone to the train almost an hour -ahead of time. Everything in the house is in -perfect order; supper is nearly ready; David -isn’t tired; and we are all ‘neatly and tastefully -attired’ for the occasion. Won’t mother -be impressed!”</p> - -<p>“Not by Gassy,” answered Jack. “Gassy -has a hole in her stocking above her shoe, -and I don’t know how many below. Her waist -has two buttons missing in the back; still, her -hair is somewhat improved, and that’s one -comfort.”</p> - -<p>“I look as well as you,” retorted Gassy, carrying -the work-basket over to her sister. “You -have some soot on your face, and I won’t tell -you where, and nobody else shall, either.”</p> - -<p>“Am I clean?” asked David, plaintively.</p> - -<p>“Clean!” exclaimed Jack. “Why, David, -you’re as clean as a piece of blank paper, and -just as thin. Turn your face to mother when -she comes in, for she won’t be able to see you -if she catches a glimpse of you sideways.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> - -<p>“How tiresome you are, Jack!” observed -Gassy, condescendingly. “I—”</p> - -<p>She was interrupted by a series of bumps -and scrapings in the cellar below, followed by -a strange wailing moan.</p> - -<p>“Hark from the tombs a doleful sound!” -cried Jack, rising. “I’ll bet a quarter it’s the -Kid.”</p> - -<p>It was the Kid. Clad in a clean white sailor -suit, and finding time pressing heavily on his -hands, he had bethought himself of a gift -with which to meet his mother,—none other -than one of the new kittens which had been -born two weeks before and were now passing -their infancy on an old rug at the bottom of a -barrel in the cellar. Having made an expedition -to the barrel, the Kid had endeavored to -gain one of the feline offspring by reaching -over into the dark depths, with a logical result -of falling headlong into the barrel. The -muffled shrieks which the family heard, and -the sounds of scraping, were such as would -naturally proceed from the attempts of a small -boy to rescue himself from an uncomfortable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -posture. When Jack arrived upon the scene, -the Kid had just succeeded in freeing himself -by tipping over the barrel and crawling out. -Being blinded and confused by the length of -time in which he had been standing on his -head, he had made a wild dive for the door, -and found himself prone on the piles of coal -on the cellar floor.</p> - -<p>“Well, here’s a mess!” cried Jack, with -disgust, picking him up and dragging him -along to the upper regions. “Look at this, -Barbara; and there are only ten minutes to -change his clothes.”</p> - -<p>Barbara hurried the little boy upstairs without -a word of reproach. She washed him -quickly, and was struggling with a stiff new -linen suit, when the sound of a carriage came -to her ears.</p> - -<p>“I love you, Barbara, for changing me,” -the Kid said humbly.</p> - -<p>She kissed him affectionately. “Now your -tie,—there!”</p> - -<p>The carriage had stopped. She heard Jack’s -excited voice downstairs. The Kid made a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -desperate wriggle from her and fled down the -steps, shouting for his mother. Barbara felt a -sudden pang as he left her,—a pang of loneliness -and desertion. She stood still a moment, -and then, almost before she had time to move, -a quick step sounded on the stairs, a new, -fresh mother came swiftly into the room, and -two strong, firm arms held her close.</p> - -<p>“Barbara, my brave, splendid daughter!” -said the most motherly voice in the world.</p> - -<p>Barbara’s reign was over.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="copyright"> -<b>The Riverside Press</b><br /> -CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS<br /> -U . S . A<br /> -</div> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<hr class="pg" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN SHE CAME HOME FROM COLLEGE***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 54033-h.htm or 54033-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/4/0/3/54033">http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/0/3/54033</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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